Willoway
by GreenWood Elf
Summary: The situation, Tonks surmised, was indeed bleak. She had no wand, no contact with the Ministry and no way off the remote Scottish island that held her prisoner. If things went according to plan, she'd be dead within the hour.
1. Prologue

**Author's Note: **Hello and welcome to my new novella "Willoway". As you may have read in the summary, this story was inspired by one the creepiest horror films of all time, _The Wicker Man_ (the original version, not the icky Nick Cage remake ^_^). Since _The Wicker Man_ deals with old magic (of a sort) I thought it would be interesting to apply the concept to the HP universe. After a bit of plotting, I came up with this very weird story. I hope you enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Rowling's work. All OCs mentioned herein belong to me.

**Prologue**

_May Day-1994_

When Tonks came to, she was lying under the craggy lip of a gully about a mile from the village high street. Uncurling her bruised legs, she dragged herself out into the fiendish morning sunlight where balmy breezes teased her cheeks.

_Well, that's a surprise_, she thought. _I'm alive_.

Ignoring fatigue and pain, she remembered the basics of her defense training. First thing's first, Moody had always told her. Find your weapon.

Wand. Where was her wand?

Her aching fingers slipped into the pockets of her dirty policewoman's uniform. Dammit! She'd lost it.

_Or they'd taken it from her._

Either way, Tonks knew she was just as helpless as poor Sergeant Brodie.

The Sergeant!

The memory of him drove her to her feet in a blind panic. Pressing her fists to either side of her head, she fought her way through the fragments of recollection and horror that had gathered in her mind the night before.

It had happened quickly. They were in the empty common room of the village tavern. Noises of the coming May Day celebrations drove Brodie and her outside into the tumult of bacchanalian revelry. But the mummers of Willway wore masks of death and one by one, the villagers had turned on them. And Tonks alone had escaped.

But where was Sergeant Brodie?

_Dead_.

She shook her head, shutting out all irrationality. No, not dead. They needed him still. If her guesses were right, they would keep him alive for most of May Day…until the sacrifice.

A sudden wave of unrelenting nausea caused her to double over and retch. Tonks spilled the measly contents of her gut into the heather beneath the overhanging lip. She wiped her mouth on her sleeve and ducked back into the cool shade.

No, this simply would not do. She needed to contact the Ministry. Her final Auror exam didn't matter any more…a man's life was at stake.

Tonks swallowed the putrid lump in her throat and unwillingly, forced her feet to move. Emerging from the gully, she noticed that the sky was still an eggshell blue to the west. The sun had only _just_ risen.

Time. She had time at least.

Dragging herself up a small hill and into a meadow that bordered the roadside, Tonks promptly stripped off her black policewoman's jacket and left it lying in the weeds. The disguise would do her no good now. Curious Muggles were the very least of her worries, what with a murderous, heathen populace of wizards fencing her in like a trapped March hare.

The situation, she surmised, was indeed bleak.

She had no wand, no contact with the Ministry and no way off the remote Scottish island that held her prisoner.

_Keep calm_, reason told her and increasingly, Tonks wished her three years of extensive Auror training would start to kick in.

But maybe she wasn't meant to be an Auror. After all, hadn't she thoroughly screwed up her first solo assignment?

In the end, she wouldn't mind failing so much, if only she could assure that Sergeant Brodie made it out alive with her.

Poor man. He was helpless, even as a Muggle policeman. And if she didn't get to him soon, he'd be dead.

_But I can't think this way. Not now_.

She had to approach her dilemma logically, as Moody had taught her when she had first been accepted into the Auror program.

Tonks still had her metamorphmagus abilities. She could alter her appearance, making herself unrecognizable to any of the island's inhabitants and then sneak into a home to steal either a broom or a wand.

It wasn't a perfect plan, but it was a plan, nonetheless.

Climbing over a stile, she hopped down into a pasture and waded her way through the dewy grass. Littered about the ground she noticed half-rotten crabapples and cringed.

All this, all this mess over some stupid fruit.

In mounting frustration, she kicked one of the apples and sent it sailing.

Constant vigilance, old Moody had drilled into her adolescent brain. He would be disappointed in his student now. If only she hadn't allowed her attention to wander, if only she hadn't been so outright stupid. Maybe then she would have noticed the underlying evil lurking on the beguiling island of Willoway. Maybe then she would have been able to keep Sergeant Brodie out of harm's way and call for back-up from the Ministry to set things right.

Not now.

Tonks came to the end of the pasture and with some difficulty, lifted herself over the fence. The mossy beams lodged splinters under her palms

She hissed sharply and ignored her smarting hands. This little hurt was nothing compared to the pain Brodie would be in if she didn't sort things out. Even the though policeman was resourceful, she doubted he could escape his captors alive.

But in the end, they were both trapped, weren't they?

Tonks pulled her sore feet over the fence slats, wondering just why she and Brodie hadn't caught on to the true nature of things from the start.

Despite his shrewdness, the Sergeant was unfortunately short-sighted when it came to things beyond the realm of reality. He could have never foreseen the deadly turn things would take. Who would, really?

Willoway was a pretty little island with simple-minded folk and rustic, if not outdated, traditions. Who would have guessed the malicious currents simmering beneath the neat cobblestone lanes and quaint cottages?

Tonks hadn't. She had expected her first solo mission for the Ministry to be a petty, simplistic thing. And so had Brodie.

Neither of them had been prepared for the primitive truth behind the rituals of the secluded islanders. In the end, they were both utterly over their heads and perhaps that was why they had…had…

_Never mind_.

Tonks dropped down on the other side of the fence, stiffening when she heard the whine of a bagpipe come drifting over the hills.

The chanter was soon joined by the hollow, rhythmic precision of a beating drum. Giddy tambourines and bells chimed in.

Oh, how she knew that tune!

Falling to her knees, Tonks hid herself behind the scruffy roadside grass, which had grown high as spring approached.

The villagers of Willoway were approaching and with them they brought the ancient days of magic…the hallowed festivities of May Day.

What passed before her was the most grotesque procession Tonks reckoned she'd ever see.

Men and women in odd-fitting animal masks capered over the road, raising loose dust and dragging ragged ribbons through the already warm air.

The band past by first, followed by the children with garlands in their hair and no shoes on their roughened feet.

White ceremonial robes were darkened with dirt. Women laughed shrilly.

Tonks wanted to stop her ears against the menacing noise, but the song, ah the song was a charmed thing itself. She could not help but listen.

And they were singing, all of them. Singing that ugly pastoral hymn, that melody of the olden days when blood could not easily be separated from water and meaningless incantations represented the most holy of rites.

"_Summer is Icumen in,_

_Loudly sing, cuckoo!_

_Grows the seeds and blows the mead;_

_And springs the wood anew._

_Sing, cuckoo!"_

There was only one man not singing. Sergeant Brodie. Tonks swallowed a miserable scream when she saw him, not in his police uniform, but garbed in their wicked white robes.

There was no time now.

Brodie would be dead in an hour.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Like I said, weird, right? The prologue starts in medias res (in the middle of things) so if you're confused, that's perfectly all right. Everything will be explained in the next chapter. The song excerpted in this chapter is commonly known as _The Cuckoo Song_ or _Sumer Is Icumen In_, an English round that originated in the 13th century.

Thank you so much for taking the time to read! If you have a spare moment, please leave a review. I would absolutely love to hear from you. I hope you have a great week!


	2. Chapter One Constable Tonks

**Disclaimer:** I claim no ownership of Rowling's work. All OCs mentioned herein belong to me.

**Chapter One Constable Tonks**

_April 1994_

There were three men sitting outside the police station. Three Muggle men.

Tonks felt their eyes on her as she stepped onto the stone porch and rang the doorbell. A sudden afternoon drizzle left her starched black uniform uncomfortably damp. She shuffled in her stiff oxfords.

"Can I help you, miss?"

_So, she would have to talk to them after all._

"Umm, hello." Tonks half-turned and glanced at the trio of policemen out of the corner of her eye. They looked harmless enough, lean and wiry like greyhounds, with their hair neatly tucked underneath hats and ruddy skin rubbed raw from the highland winds. "I'm looking for Sergeant Brodie."

"He's out to lunch."

"Oh." She let go of the breath she had been holding in, the air rushing past her teeth in a hiss.

One of the policemen quirked a heavy, black brow. "Don't worry," he said. "He'll be back. It's almost a quarter to one anyhow and the Sergeant is never late."

"Never late," a second constable droned, pulling a fag out of his pocket. "Want a smoke?"

"No thanks." Tonks shook her head, her sweaty hair hitting her cheeks.

At this rate, she'd never pass Auror training.

_Although the department could have given me a simpler final exam_, she thought to herself, waves of fresh anxiety making her empty stomach churn. All graduating Aurors were sent on simple investigations and missions before the completion of training. The department's last test was designed more to insure that three years of arduous instruction hadn't been a waste and that the candidate was prepared for extended solo field work.

Tonks, however, thought she'd gotten the short end of the stick.

She leaned against the station door and glanced down at her clothing. The policewoman's uniform she wore was awfully drab, not that she had ever been one to follow fashion. And her normally vibrant hair she had been forced to change to a washed out, dingy blond.

Humph, if only her old teacher Moody could see her now!

The constable tossed his fag onto the ground and pointed up the street.

"See, I told you he'd be on time."

Tonks's head snapped up. Crossing from the opposite side of the road was the Sergeant, a short, square-shouldered man dressed in a regulation rain slicker. He nodded curtly at his colleagues as he stepped onto the porch and raised his eyebrows at Tonks.

"Constable Tonks, I presume?" he asked with a clipped, Scottish accent.

She cleared her throat, suddenly feeling as though she had a toad lodged in the back of her mouth. "Yeah. Are you Sergeant Alan Brodie?"

"Aye. Come inside then." He opened the door for her and she moved into the narrow hall. The station house was a tight, crowded sort of building, not nearly as metropolitan as the ones she had seen in London. A hardwood benched stretched along the right wall and there was a neat reception desk across from it.

Tonks removed her cap and ran her fingers through her sticky hair. "I think I was a little early," she laughed.

"Hmm." The Sergeant breathed out sharply through his nose. "This way, please."

He took her down the hall and into an office. Local maps hung limply from a cork board next to the solitary window. A row of grey lockers stood shoulder to shoulder opposite the door. Drab, blue paint gave the room a tired, repressed feel.

Brodie closed the door with its frosted glass pane behind them. "Have a seat."

Tonks tried to lower herself down into the maple chair, but the toe of her left shoe caught on the leg of the Sergeant's desk and caused her hip to collide with the lip of it. A loud, metallic clang sounded.

She cringed. "Sorry."

The Sergeant said nothing, but sighed tersely. "I understand you've come up from Edinburgh? I received a letter from your chief constable a week ago. I must say, I'm surprised the city police are interested in the goings on of Willoway. The island is beyond your department's management."

"Yeah," Tonks replied, her mind working furiously to keep her all too necessary cover story in place.

The letter from the Edinburgh constabulary had been sent by Kingsley Shacklebolt, who had also arranged her credentials with the Scottish police in the first place. Tonks herself had hoped to go on her mission as a wizard, but the Muggle alias was needed. For now, she'd have to grit her teeth and pretend to be a constable.

"I've been involved in an ongoing investigation with the island," she said. "My department received several complaints a while ago and I was put in charge of the case."

"You are familiar with the troubles on Willoway then?"

Tonks leaned back in her chair. "Of course." She smiled compulsively.

Yes, she was familiar with the details of the Willoway case, although her experience with the matter radically differed from Sergeant Brodie's. Willoway was a remote island off the west coast of Scotland with a mixed populace of wizard and Muggle folk. Although, by all accounts, the cohabitation seemed peaceful and prosperous, two months ago the Ministry had been alerted to growing unrest. It seemed that the Muggles on the island were being disturbed by magical vandalism every night, and even though some local wizards had covered up the trouble, things were now getting out of hand.

It was her job to travel to the island and set the matter straight. From what the Ministry had gathered, it was very likely a severe infestation of pixies, unusual for the region, but not unknown. Once Tonks had gotten to the bottom of things, she would most likely redirect the problem to another Ministry Department, and, with any luck, become a full Auror.

Unfortunately, the Muggle residents of Willoway had lodged grievances with a mainland constabulary and they had launched their own investigation. And since the Ministry was forbidden from interfering in matters of Muggle law enforcement, Tonks would have to accompany the police to Willoway herself.

Sergeant Brodie opened one of his desks drawers and withdrew a manila folder. "It's all very routine," he said, extracting a stack of papers. "You can read the complaints yourself if you like."

Tonks took the documents from him and flipped through the mostly handwritten notes. Unable to help herself, she giggled while skimming through one particularly colorful letter that described a sheep's wool being dyed red overnight.

Sergeant Brodie raised his eyebrows at her again. "You find the letters amusing," he said, a crisp edge to his voice.

Tonks bit her lip hard and quelled her laughter. "No, I was just-"

"You seem very young to be a constable."

"Umm…"

"I do hope you understand the gravity of the situation." Brodie leaned forward slightly in his chair and fixed her with an icy stare.

Tonks swallowed and dropped the papers back onto his desk. She wondered if the man had given himself ulcers already. He was in his early forties and quite easily the most uptight Muggle she had ever met.

And as it was, she had only spent five minutes with him.

_No rash judgments_, she warned herself. _Maybe they ran out of his favorite pudding at lunch._

"I understand," she said evenly.

His left hand twitched slightly and his grey eyes widened, waiting for her to continue.

Tonks stayed silent.

The Sergeant's square face slackened slightly. "Very good. Have you any theories?"

"Uh."

"You said you were familiar with the case."

"Oh, yes!" Tonks squirmed in her chair. God, this was an awful lot like sitting through one of Professor Binns's lectures. Even though she had long ago given up the fantasy of Auror work being all action, she thought this interrogation style meeting was unusually tedious. "Well, I uh, I think it's something we should definitely look into. The disturbances do seem silly…er, I mean, childish."

"Precisely." Brodie nodded. "We must take into account the youth population native to Willoway. It may very well be the work of young hoodlums."

"Yeah." Tonks found herself nodding along with him. Perhaps that was why Sergeant Brodie had taken offense to her age?

Or maybe he was just a prat, kind of like an older Percy Weasley.

She was leaning towards the latter.

And then another bubble of laughter threatened to erupt from her as she pictured the Sergeant encountering a nest of "hoodlum' pixies in some old lady's flower garden.

Hmm, that would almost make up for everything.

"Constable." The Sergeant was now drumming his fingers on his desk in an unpleasant rhythm. "May I see the complaints your department received?"

Tonks nearly jumped out of her seat at his question. What was he talking about? And then she realized.

She had made the error of inferring that she had similar letters from the residents of Willoway.

Mistake one.

Inwardly, she flinched. If Kingsley Shacklebolt was here, he'd be deducting a boatload of points from her final exam score already.

Oh well, she'd have to improvise. Being quick on your feet was a necessary skill for any Auror, especially when dealing with curious Muggles.

"Sorry." Tonks pretended to go through her small leather bag which in reality held her wand and a change of robes. "I must have left them behind. Can I get them for you tomorrow?"

The Sergeant looked less than pleased. "Very well."

Ugh, did he have to be so condescending? She supposed it was in his nature, because her Muggle-born dad was nothing less than a doll.

Sergeant Brodie, however, was awfully stiff.

Tonks found herself staring at his police uniform which was belted tightly around his waist. He seemed so uncomfortable! How could he stand it?

She rolled her shoulders, feeling tense just looking at him.

"I was hoping to stop in at Willoway tomorrow," the Sergeant continued, reaching for the folder and stuffing it back into his desk. The drawer closed with a snap. "We'll have to fly."

"Of course," Tonks replied, only too keen to agree with him. She certainly hadn't made a good first impression and now, she thought it was best to go along with whatever he said. "What, umm, what time did you have in mind?"

"Seven in the morning. It shouldn't take us long to get there."

"Fine, that's just fine."

The Sergeant rose. Their meeting was over. He extended an arm across his desk and firmly shook Tonks's hand. "I look forward to working with you, Constable."

"Yeah, me too," Tonks said absently. She allowed herself to be led out of the office.

"I trust you can see yourself out." He pointed down the empty hall.

"See you tomorrow morning," she replied, for lack of anything else to say.

The Sergeant simply nodded.

It was not until she was outside again and few blocks away from the police station that Tonks began to wonder exactly what the Sergeant meant by _flying_.

* * *

The room she was put up in for the night was in a Muggle inn. The pleasant landlady fed her a restoring supper of stew and fresh-baked bread and then sent her off to bed with a cup of hot chocolate to keep her warm throughout the damp spring night. Once Tonks had settled herself in her room, she made sure to contact Auror Shacklebolt by way of the fireplace.

Kingsley was in charge of her final exam, as the Department had a policy against teachers such as Moody testing their own students. For that, Tonks was secretly glad, because she knew Moody would be harder on her than anyone else.

Kingsley had been waiting to hear from her and his large, bald head popped into the fireplace with a warm smile.

"Nymphadora, how are things going so far?" he asked, his voice deep and warm enough to drive away the constant lashing of the rain on the windowpanes.

Tonks sank to her knees before the fire and planted her chin in her hands. "All right, Kingsley. The weather could be better though. I think I'm catching a cold." And she promptly sneezed to prove her point.

Kingsley chuckled. "Have you made contact with the Muggle policeman?"

"Yes," Tonks replied, "By the way, can you have the Department send me up some forged complaints by tomorrow morning? He's very meticulous, this man and _nosy_."

"Most Muggles are," Kingsley said knowingly. "Was he suspicious of your credentials?"

"No, not really." Tonks shook her head. "Although he did say I looked too young to be a constable and I can't very well change my appearance now that he's seen me. I don't think he likes kids much. He went ranting on about hoodlums disturbing the peace and what-not."

Kingsley twisted his mouth. "Don't worry about him, Nymphadora. Remember what we discussed? Keep him in the dark, let him do his detective work. Have you practiced your memory charms?"

"Of course! I was tempted to cast one on him right then and there in the office. He was a prat, Kingsley."

"You mustn't take him personally. If you become a full Auror, you can expect to work with the most unfavorable of people. Tolerance is most assuredly the key to surviving and thriving."

"I know. I know." Tonks settled herself back on her heels, the warm carpet cushioning her chilly feet. "I guess things are going as well as can be expected. We're supposed to leave tomorrow morning at seven. No beauty sleep for me, I guess. "

"Ah, that reminds me." Kingsley's eyes suddenly lit up. "I ran across something today while going over your case file. Are you familiar with Willoway's exportation business?"

Tonks screwed up her face, thinking. "Are they behind Willoway's Ointments and Healing Salves? If so, it's a big business indeed! My mum uses a ton of that stuff on her face…it's very popular."

"Exactly," Kingsley nodded, the flames flickering wildly as he did so.

Tonks thought it made him look particularly haunted.

"The island's entire economy is based around a line of magical body care products. I don't know if it's any help to you, but you might want to keep it in mind. Something could come up related to the vandalism."

Tonks shrugged. "Thanks, Kingsley. I'll ask around. At the very least, I know what I'm getting my Mum for her birthday. She loves that stuff."

Kingsley laughed once more. "You will take care, Nymphadora?"

"I will. You'll send the documents by owl?"

"They'll reach you before dawn. Go get some rest."

"Aye," Tonks replied, mimicking Sergeant Brodie's accent.

She said good night to Kingsley, feeling somewhat better about the whole situation. But once she was tucked beneath her comforter and ready to drift off into sleep, thoughts of the Sergeant made her groan aloud.

"I swear," she muttered, "they should make me an Auror just for dealing with him alone."


	3. Chapter Two Playing Dumb

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Rowling's work. All OCs mentioned herein belong to me.

**Chapter Two Playing Dumb**

_So this is what he meant by flying, _Tonks thought as Sergeant Brodie set the tiny seaplane down in a basin of iron-colored water.

Her heart dropped straight into her stomach as waves struck the doors, whitecaps rising up against the nose of the plane as the engine sputtered.

"Are you all right?" Brodie asked, turning slightly in the pilot's seat, his hands still on the controls.

Tonks caught her reflection in the window. Her face was blanched white like porridge.

"Yeah, I'm…ok."

She thought she would throw-up straight into her lap.

Brodie clucked at her indifferently under his breath. "You mean to tell me that you've never flown before, Constable?"

"Oh, I've _flown_," she replied, her voice jumping an octave higher.

Tonks thought of her trusty, but outdated Comet 260 back at home. Ugh, if only she could have used her broom to fly to Willoway instead.

She tried to sit back in her cramped seat and relax as Brodie guided the plane into the harbor. A narrow, green strand stretched to her right and she noticed tiny white hovels clustered together on the shoreline.

So this was Willoway.

_This won't be so bad_, she told herself. _I'll get in, I'll get out and I'll get promoted to full Auror_.

Assuming she could handle this case well enough.

Things had gotten off to a rough start already. She had met Brodie that morning at seven AM sharp at the police station, but they were grounded until ten-thirty by a sudden squall. The bad weather had only heightened her nerves, along with the Sergeant's tight-lipped, sour mood.

Tonks had sat in his office, going over every bit of her training she could call to mind.

And just when she had regained her confidence, she had stepped outside and spotted the seaplane for the first time.

Muggle transportation was unbelievably harrowing.

When they had come close enough to the shore to see the dock, Brodie killed the engine and told Tonks to open her window.

As she did so, she was hit was a comforting blast of wet ocean air that gently quelled her anxiety.

Brodie slipped off his headphones and she followed his example, leaving her life vest on for good measure. After a moment of uncomfortable scrambling, the Sergeant managed to climb over her seat and get the door open.

Tonks slid away from his firm backside, though she managed to jab his thigh with her overnight bag.

"Sorry," she muttered, blushing, "cramped quarters."

She rose from her seat, her legs suddenly cramping as they supported her full body weight. Over Brodie's shoulder, she saw a flutter of activity over by the dock.

A small motorized boat came putting out on the choppy waves, circling the nose of the seaplane and stopping by the right wing.

"Hallo, sir, miss." The boatsman dipped his full chin once in greeting. "Out of fuel, are ye? I got some here, if ye like, hold up." He reached underneath his seat and produced a white can with a thin, black spout.

Brodie leaned out the door of the plane, his foot propped up and one forearm resting on his knee. "Not at all. I'm a police officer--from the mainland, you see. Can you take us to shore?"

The man in the boat stared at him dumbfounded, his mouth opening to reveal a set of crooked teeth most likely yellowed by tobacco and strong ale. "Ye wanting to land on Willoway?" he asked, in that irritating, half-incredulous manner of the ignorant. "On this island?"

"Aye." Brodie nodded once, stiffly, Tonks noted. But then again, the man did everything stiffly. "I'm Sergeant Brodie from the West Highland Constabulary. This young lady is Constable Tonks from Edinburgh. We've received complaints from your island regarding nighttime vandalism of a most destructive nature. Now for God's sake, man, would you take us to land?"

The waves were getting a fair bit choppier and Tonks had to hold on to the top of the plane's door to steady herself. At the moment, she mirrored Brodie's impatience and longed for firm terrain under her feet once more.

"Oh please," she moaned, as another fitful wave struck the bottom of the seaplane. "Can't you take us now?"

Both Brodie and the boatsman glanced back at her with subdued alarm.

"All right," the islander replied. "You'll forgive me for being cautious. We don't much get strangers round here. Don't rightly know what yer talking bout though. Been no vandalism. We're peaceful, friendly folk."

He made room for them in his dingy and cast a line over to Brodie who fastened it to the plane. Tonks tripped as the Sergeant tried to help her into the boat and she landed face first on the desk, her nose smarting with pain.

"Ouch," she muttered, rubbing her face as Brodie easily climbed in next to her. The line was loosed and they were ferried back to shore where a small crowd had gathered.

Tonks took advantage of the boat ride and surveyed the island from the water. It wasn't large, maybe three miles across. She couldn't guess how many wide. The dock gave onto a lane of two storey cottages which wound its way up the beach and further into the small town. And beyond, she noticed a hint of rolling hills and deep green pastures.

It seemed odd to her that wizards and Muggles would seek to coexist in such a small, isolated place. Surely the Statute of Secrecy was harder to keep on Willoway. Just how did the wizarding families disguise their magic from the other residents?

Perhaps that was why the vandalism had cropped up lately. Some young wizards were having difficulty keeping a lid on their magic and were displaying themselves in the most colorful way possible.

Whatever the case, Tonks knew she would have to be careful and keep all this from Brodie. He seemed nosy enough as was.

The boat pulled up to the dock in a matter of minutes and this time, Brodie nearly lifted Tonks out to avoid another fall. When they had both gained the dry land and stripped themselves of lifevests, they were greeted by a motley crowd of about six men, all wearing a strange mixture of cloak, trousers and plain, workmen's clothes. Their hands were large and stained with earth, their faces unshaven and rustic.

And yet, a sense of cheerfulness emanated from their pleasant smiles. Tonks found herself grinning along with them as she introduced herself.

"Constable Tonks," she said, sticking out a hand which was roughly shaken half a dozen times.

"Nice to meet ye, lass," the oldest of the group, a wizened fellow of about eighty, lisped. "Did ye get lost in your plane?"

"No," Brodie said directly and quickly reintroduced himself. "We've come here to investigate some rather troublesome vandalism, I'm afraid. I'm certain you gentlemen are aware of the situation. The constabulary received many complaints."

"From this island?" a second man muttered. "Och, ye don't mean Willoway, now, do ye? We've had very little trouble up here."

"So I've heard," Brodie retorted. He reached into his travel bag and extracted that same manila folder he had showed Tonks on the day she'd first met him. "Are you familiar with these?"

The Sergeant handed several of the letters around to the men.

A moment of silent reading passed, though Tonks wondered if they were all literate. Or perhaps they were telling the truth and knew nothing of the vandalism? After all, the Ministry had received reports from several wizard residents saying that memory charms had been employed to cover up the most blatant cases of magical defacement.

But then the old man with the wheezy voice piped up, clapping a clawed, but still broad hand to his chest. "Aye, these complaints! Aye, aye. We know of these. I even signed my name to this one. See." He pointed at the scrawled signature at the bottom that read Donald Spens.

"Perfect," Brodie replied. "I'll need statements from all of you then. Constable, do you think you can handle that?"

Tonks was pulled from her silent acquiescence when he addressed her. She knew how to take statements, of course, it was routine work for Aurors-in-training, who sometimes were called to the scenes of magical crimes to deal with the most simple paperwork.

"Of course," she said, bouncing a little on the balls of her feet. It was a relief, really, knowing that she'd be able to relate to the procedures of Muggle law enforcement in some way.

The Sergeant, however, frowned at her enthusiasm. "Very well. Gentlemen, I would like to interview each of you. The more thorough a picture we get, the quicker--"

"Oh, I'm sorry, sir," Donald Spens interrupted Brodie, his small, owlish face darkening, "but we'll nawt be giving statements. I don't rightly remember most of the trouble, but you could ask around the village. I'm sure you'll find someone."

Brodie raised both his sandy eyebrows. "I'm afraid I don't understand. You issued the complaint, Mr. Spens. All I'm asking is for a few minutes of your time. Do you want the vandalism stopped or not?"

"Sorry," Mr. Spens repeated, clucking his tongue softly. "Can't help ye, Sergeant, sir."

The rest of the men nodded, strangely unison in their agreement.

"Nope, sorry."

"Don't have the time now."

"Can't say much about it anyhow."

Tonks felt the frustration fairly rising off Brodie like steam. This was the work of a rather sloppy memory charm, she decided. The Muggles obviously recalled some of the incident, but not enough to be of help. Oblivators would have to be sent in to clean up what was started.

Meanwhile, she'd like to talk to the wizard or witch who had initially done the covering up. It seemed like a logical place to start and Moody had taught her to be rational and skeptical during the most straightforward of investigations.

However, she'd have to find a way to get away from Brodie first.

Easier said than done, certainly.

The Sergeant tucked the papers back into his bag and bid a curt farewell to the men. Together, Tonks and he started out along the main thoroughfare into town, a street which curved steadily upwards from the dock into a sloping residential lane.

Brodie walked with brisk, assured steps, his polished black shoes just skimming the puddles that gathered between the cobblestones.

Tonks kept up with him easily, her mind racing. She couldn't very well start her investigation with the policeman hanging about. Unfortunately, she was more or less attached to his hip.

Involuntarily, of course.

As they passed a row of white-washed cottages and a small yard with a grazing goat, she heard him mutter, "I don't understand why a person would lodge a complaint with a mainland constabulary and then refuse to make a statement."

"Awfully unfortunate," Tonks piped up, hoping to soothe the heat of his irritation. "But you know, life is different in small communities. There is a closeness between families that's almost tribal…clannish. People rely upon each other for the necessities out here."

"You're suggesting a conspiracy then?" Brodie prodded. Clearly, he wasn't ready to settle yet.

Tonks stared at his straight as a ruler back. He held himself like a soldier on parade.

"You're suggesting that we'll have to infiltrate an isolated community to snuff out a few vandals?" he continued, pulling his hat down over his brow to block the sun. "It's almost comical."

_But you don't look amused_, Tonks thought to herself, biting back a smile. "If it comes to that, yes."

Brodie shook his head. "How long have you been with the Edinburgh police, Constable?"

Thankfully, she had an answer prepared. "Oh, about five years."

"I appreciate your determination, just so you know. You're not as lazy as most people your age."

Tonks didn't know whether to be insulted or flattered. She chose the latter, just because her mood needed bolstering.

"We'll try the post office first," Brodie said, "work our way through the shops, then the inn. It'll take forever, but--"

"Then we should spilt up." Tonks knew when to spot an opportunity and here it was, plain as day. Brodie had unwittingly offered it to her on a silver platter.

His eyebrows darted up beneath his hat once more.

"We'll cover more ground," Tonks shrugged. "And after all, it's not necessary to work in tandem when there is no real danger."

And as if to emphasis her point, the tethered goat brayed loudly.

"Fine," Brodie said fussily. "Three hours. We'll meet back at the inn at four."

"Agreed." And just like that, Tonks was on her way.

They parted by the village green and she happily followed the road down by the waterside before turning into the business district. At first, she was concerned about finding signs of a magical community on the secluded island. The wizards living on Willoway would have to hide themselves well and she feared they would be nearly impossible to dig out of their burrows. But to Tonks's shock, the first shop she encountered boasted a front window brimming with cauldrons and potion ingredients.

A large sign marked "Apothecary" hung over the door.

"A bit odd," she said to herself, snatching off her policewoman's cap and stuffing it into her overnight bag.

A delightful silver bell tinkled above the door as she pushed it open, stepping over the threshold. Dizziness swamped her for a tremulous second, as Tonks was assaulted by the dozens of nearly overwhelming scents of the shop. Fresh sprigs of rosemary hung from the ceiling in bundles tied with scraps of ribbon. Sturdy, but plain-looking shelves creaked under the weight of jars, cauldrons and baskets brimming with wild flowers. Despite the clutter, everything seemed to have its place, the fungi and roots stacked neatly to the left, with mooncow dung packed into earthenware jars on the floor to the right.

It was one of those rare, adorable little shops that were quickly disappearing across Britain to be replaced by convenient mail-order catalogues.

Tonks could not help but feel an ounce of forgotten nostalgia. How nice it must be to grow up in the countryside!

She skirted her way carefully around a barrel of moss-encrusted stones and made her way to the counter.

A young girl was sitting on top of it, next to a faintly steaming cauldron.

"Murron!" the child called, swiveling around, her yellow braids whipping over the rim of the cauldron.

Tonks smiled brightly. "Hi there. Is your mum about?"

The girl half-turned and glanced at her, eyes narrowing in honest curiosity. "What's yer name?" she asked, in that musical, pleasant accent Tonks had already come to equate with the natives.

"Dora Tonks," she replied. "And are you Murron?"

"Na, that's my sister. Murron! There's a lady out here for ye!"

A clatter of footsteps sounded from behind the counter. Tonks listened to the echo and decided the person must be wearing high-heeled shoes of some sort. She set her bag down just as a woman about her age appeared from behind a curtain divider.

"All right, Lessie, no need to wake the dead," Murron, a woman of about twenty-one with the same yellow hair, said, perching a saucy hand on her hip. She glanced at Tonks. "Can I help you?"

Tonks, for her part, was slightly taken aback. She had expected some confusion about her manner of dress, which was decidedly Muggle. However, the two sisters seemed less than perturbed by her outlandish appearance. Did they assume she was a witch?

"Hi," Tonks replied after a moment's pause. "I'm Junior Auror Nymphadora Tonks from the Ministry of Magic. Is this your shop?"

"Oh, aye." Murron's eyes widened slightly as she spoke, her brows flickering. "From the Ministry, eh? Why were you flying over in the Muggle airplane then?"

She was certainly perceptive, this one. Tonks ran her tongue along her teeth, forcing her smile to stay in place. "I'm with a Muggle police officer. We've come to the island on a joint investigation. There've been complaints, you see." She bent forward, fumbled uselessly with her bag and managed to spill a few scrolls of parchment onto the floor.

Lessie giggled.

Murron rounded the counter and helped Tonks gather her things. "Complaints? Sounds official. Why are you dressed like a copper?"

"Superior's orders," Tonks mumbled, rifling through the papers. "The Auror office is trying to get to the bottom of some magical vandalism. I was hoping you could answer some questions for me, point me in the right direction and so forth."

"Humph." Murron planted her other hand on her hip. "Sounds like the Ministry can't make heads or tails of a donkey."

"Not at all." Tonks was aware of her dishwater blond hair turning red at the roots. Scrunching up her face, she forced her annoyance away. "I see the Muggles have all had their memories altered. Do you know who performed the charm? It was rather sloppy work."

"A memory charm?" Murron returned to her place behind the counter, lifted the lid from the cauldron and sniffed the steam. "Why would someone cast a memory charm up here? We don't have need for such things."

This time, Tonks could not withhold a sigh. Were these people playing dumb?

"Look," she said, "just tell me about the vandalism. When did it start? How did it manifest? When was the last occurrence?"

Lessie was now sitting on her knees on the counter, one finger dangling just above the cauldron.

Murron slapped her hand away. "So many questions. I don't know. Nothing has happened here at the Apothecary."

"Well, it wouldn't," Tonks said, aggravated by the witch's cavalier attitude. "According to the complaints, only Muggle residents have been affected."

"Muggles?" Murron set the cast iron lid back on her cauldron with a laugh. "On Willoway? Oh, lah." She wiped her face with her apron.

"Anything about the vandalism?" Tonks shifted her weight from one uncomfortable oxford to the other. "Anything at all?"

"Mmm, I've not seen anything. Lessie, what about you?"

"No, nothing. Can I go outside now?"

"Yes, but mind Mr. Spens's goat."

The girl hopped off the counter in a whirl of pressed muslin and beribboned braids. Tonks heard the bell over the door ring merrily.

She sighed to herself, suddenly missing the days of carefree play, now replaced with strict routine and nearly endless training.

But she was almost finished with her training. Hell, she _was_ finished. All she needed to do was pass this final test, negotiate her investigation on Willoway successfully and she'd be promoted to full Auror.

If only the islands residents would begin to cooperate.

For the first time, she understood Sergeant Brodie's frustration.

She decided to switch tactics.

"This is a really nice shop you have. How long have you been in business?"

Murron looked at her with a strange, amused sort of smile. "As long as I can remember. It was my grandad's and then my dad's and now mine. I'm surprised you would think much of it with your fancy city stores in Diagon Alley."

Was she being defensive? Tonks wasn't sure. The woman's smile was still in place, though their was a hint of scrutiny in her eyes.

She felt as though her measure was being taken and, out of her sheer habit, she straightened up and puffed out her flat chest.

So much for cajoling.

"Miss," she said, planting her palms on the counter. "If false complaints have been lodged with the Ministry, well, that's a punishable offense. The prankster will be sitting before the Wizengamot before the week is out."

Murron smiled, showing every one of her pretty white teeth. "Not me," she said. "I don't know a thing."

_Damn!_

Tonks picked up her bag. "All right. Thank you for your time." She was almost out of the shop when a thought occurred to her and she turned on her heel.

"Hey, do you have any of that Willoway Ointment? My mum is addicted to that stuff. I wanted to get her some for her birthday."

Murron batted her eyelashes demurely. "No. I expect it's all been exported." _[1]  
_

* * *

_[1] This line was taken from _The Wicker Man_ (1973) screenplay by Anthony Shaffer. _


	4. Chapter Three Rituals

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Rowling's work. However, all OCs mentioned herein belong to me.

**Chapter Three Rituals **

Tonks was late meeting up with Brodie at the island's inn. Much to her surprise, the magical populace of Willoway was not only abundant but outgoing. After she left the Apothecary and made her way through the village, she was regularly stopped by witches and wizards who wanted to make her acquaintance.

And although they were an undeniably friendly people, not a one of them seemed to know a thing of the vandalism. Tonks began to wonder if a memory charm had backfired and put all of Willoway under some sort of spell. She could just picture the headline in the _Prophet._

ISOLATED ISLANDERS LOSE THEIR MEMORY--MINISTRY SENDS IN TEAM OF CRACK OBLIVIATORS TO REVERSE THE CHARM.

It would have been humorous had she not been assigned to the case. At the moment, it was nothing less than frustrating.

However, Tonks decided that she should be glad for small mercies. At least Sergeant Brodie would not hear tell of magical happenings while on the island. As it was, she had been worried about his unbridled tenacity.

_Though no one could ever accuse Brodie of being unbridled in anyway_, she thought with a subdued giggle as she headed across the village green. He was wound right up tight, he was.

The inn, (aptly named "The Honeybee") stood on the far side of the green. As Tonks approached, she was thrilled to encounter a knot of youngsters playing a rather odd game of tag that involved long ribbons and some sort of pole.

Blinking her eyes, she realized that the children were dancing around a May Pole.

"You city girl, you," Tonks scolded herself and stopped for just a moment to admire the careless revelry.

There were several teenagers sitting under a willow tree nearby watching the proceedings and Tonks recognized the bottles of liquor they brazenly displayed in a basket at their feet.

She wasn't one to chide underage drinkers. A few years ago, she would have been with them.

Tonks was almost tempted to stay out on the green until twilight, it was such a pleasant evening. Brodie, however, awaited her inside the inn. She knew he would be cranky and no excuse for her lateness would be good enough for him.

Gathering herself once more, she forced herself onwards toward the inn and pushed open the paned double doors.

Sergeant Brodie was indeed standing by the bar, looking dapper as ever as he drank a soda. The place was otherwise empty save for a young couple sitting in the backroom having dinner.

Tonks took off her policewoman's cap and tried to smile brightly.

"Hello," she greeted her colleague. "How's everything?"

Brodie was in the process of taking his starched handkerchief from out of his pocket and he looked at up her sharply.

"You are late, Constable."

"Sorry, I-"

"Have you had any luck?"

Tonks put her bag down on the bar and slid her bottom onto a stool next to him. The air in the tavern was cool, spiced with the warm scent of barley, hops and yeast. An apron-wearing waitress wove her way between the wooden tables placing small candles on them and shoving in chairs. Behind the bar, an impressive collection of native whiskeys were shelved next to watercolor paintings of the island. She recognized the docks at once, along with a small white building that had to be the school.

"No," she said, shaking her head. "It's like pulling teeth out there. Most of the locals are friendly, though. I didn't mind talking to them."

Brodie returned his handkerchief to his pocket after wiping his brow and lifted his soda to his lips, the ice chinking in the glass.

"I find it all very disagreeable," he said shortly. "Surely they realize that it is a punishable offense to file a false report with a mainland constabulary. Granted, they have absolutely no police force out here, which is troublesome enough."

Tonks shrugged. "Maybe we're not talking to the right people."

"I interviewed half a dozen gossipy housewives and a merchant. They admitted to signing complaints but could remember nothing of the vandalism."

Tonks nodded in sympathy. She almost wished she could tell him about her memory charm suspicions, the poor man seemed utterly at a loss.

She was about to offer him some meaningless words of comfort and encouragement when the barkeep came out from the backroom, his white apron hanging off his lanky frame.

"Oh, so here is the second police officer! Welcome, Constable. Have a drink on the house." He quickly ducked behind the bar and reached for a glass. "What'll ye have? Your friend here doesn't seem much for drink."

Tonks laughed, noticing Brodie's eyes narrow. "Do you have any local cider?"

"Course we do." In a minute, he had shoved the brimming glass her way, although Tonks managed to spill a few drops on her clean and pressed skirt.

The barkeep handed her a napkin. "Name's Dermott," he said with a wink, the dull pub light shining off his balding head.

"Dora Tonks," Tonks said, introducing herself. She reached over the bar to shake Dermott's freckled hand. "And thanks for the cider. I'm parched!"

"You'll be wanting a room then? The Sergeant here tells me you two will be spending the night."

Tonks glanced at Brodie. Obviously, he had already made arrangements for them.

"Thanks, I appreciate it," she replied.

Dermott smiled cheekily and reached under the counter, producing a tagged key. "You're both next to each other on the second floor. Charge is ten sickles a night."

"Sickles?" Tonks choked on her cider.

"Pounds, I meant." Dermott continued smiling, although he did wink at her again.

Tonks sat back on her stool. Was everyone on Willoway a wizard?

Brodie, thankfully, had not been listening. Instead, he was distracted by the new patrons streaming in from outside. The tavern had suddenly become quite crowded with islanders. Tonks guessed it must be closing time for most of the shops.

She touched Brodie gently on the arm. "A pub is a perfect place to listen in," she said discreetly. "We might find something useful here."

Brodie's ran his tongue along his teeth. "I doubt it," he said, glancing at the increasingly rowdy bunch.

And indeed, the crowd seemed more concerned with enjoying a round of spirits than chatting with the strangers from the mainland. To his credit, Brodie did go amongst them once to pose questions, although he had little success. From her place by the bar, Tonks noticed his frown deepening with each turn he took around the tavern.

She'd have to get him out of here before any of the patrons became tipsy and started firing off spells. Much to her luck, Dermott leaned across the counter with a puckish smile.

"We're serving supper in the dining room, if you care," he said.

Tonks had to strain to hear his voice over the chatter of the other customers.

"We have roasted chicken and potatoes, along with a nice spring chowder," Dermott continued. "Should I tell the waitress to set a table for you and your Muggle friend?"

Tonks smiled at him wryly and held a finger to her lips. "Shhh," she said.

Dermott nodded knowingly. "Aye. Just come into the dining room when you're ready."

Tonks was pleased to find that her suspicions about the populace were correct, although that would make their investigation more difficult. Brodie returned from his tour of the tavern, looking thoroughly put-out, and she had to coax him into the dining room for a bite of supper. Once they were seated, he seemed to relax a bit and treated himself to a pint, since he no longer considered himself "on-duty".

"What we have here," he said pointedly, cutting into his chicken breast, "is a mystery. I only wish there was some physical evidence of the vandalism left for us to inspect. You would think the islanders could have taken a photograph."

Tonks stared at her chowder bowl, wondering if she should discuss the case with Brodie. She had to appear fully cooperative in the joint investigation, while also keeping him strictly in the dark.

It was damn near impossible, really.

Brodie ignored her silence and continued to rattle off the few facts they had. "It almost seems ritualistic," he said. "While I was waiting for you, I divided the complaints into three categories. The first is for purely auditory disturbances, noises and such, the second for minor property defacement and the third…" he paused. "The third is a catch-all."

"What do you mean by ritualistic?" Tonks asked, her curiosity piqued.

Brodie dabbed his thin lips with a napkin. "There are patterns. For example, I've noted four instances in which stones were used to build tiny cairns. It reminds me a bit of the standing stones on Callanish. The vandalism doesn't seem to be mindless. There is a purpose to it."

Tonks set down her spoon and dropped her hands into her lap. So Brodie had made a connection she hadn't. That disturbed her. Ritualistic work implied some sort of direct spell or enchantment, which meant that the disturbances weren't mere vandalism after all.

She'd have to tell Kingsley this…as soon as possible.

After dinner, Tonks excused herself from the table and told the Sergeant that she wished to get settled in her room. She knew she was taking a chance, leaving him alone in a tavern filled with drunken wizards, but it was important that she contact the Auror office.

The inn itself was small and with little difficulty she found her room at the top of the stairs. It was a simple, cozy place with a twin bed, white-curtained windows and no less than three potted plants. Tonks was relieved to find she had access to a fireplace and as soon as she shut the door, she set about getting in touch with Kingsley.

At first, she didn't think the fireplace was connected to the Floo Network because no one appeared available on the Ministry end. But then after a few minutes of trying, an unfamiliar face popped into the flames and smiled.

"Auror Shacklebolt's office," a young blond woman chirped. "How may I help you?"

"Umm." Tonks sat back on her heels. "Excuse me, who are you exactly?"

The woman smiled brightly. "Miss Creager," she replied. "I'm Auror Shacklebolt's personal secretary. Is there anything I can do for you?"

Strange. Tonks didn't remember Kingsley having a secretary. Ms. Creager must be new.

"Is Kingsley there?" she asked. "I'm Junior Auror Tonks. I have a report for him."

Ms. Creager shook her head, the green flames licking her pretty, rosy cheeks. "Sorry. He's gone for the day. I'm sure you can reach him by owl though. Can I take a message in the meantime?"

"Uh." Tonks stared vacantly at the hearth for a moment. "No, just, er, tell him to get back to me when he can. It's kind of important. I'm staying at the Honeybee on Willoway Island. He should know where that is."

"Certainly, I'm writing it down right now. Have a good evening!"

"Yeah, you too."

Ms. Creager's head disappeared from the fireplace with a faint pop. Feeling at a loss, Tonks banked the fire and swept up the ashes left over from the Floo Powder into a bucket by the hearth.

She wasn't in a good mood now. Perhaps it was the mere thought of being isolated from the Ministry that frightened her.

"Rookie nerves," she muttered to herself.

And she wasn't completely alone. After all, there was Sergeant Brodie.

* * *

Brodie himself didn't stay in the Honeybee after dinner. He was fatigued from the flight that morning and the frustration of interviewing an island full of half-wits. Nevertheless, he decided to take a turn around the green to collect his thoughts. The twilight was considerably stunning and Brodie, who had grown up on the Highlands, enjoyed being out of doors as often as he could.

Willoway was a pretty island, although the folk residing on it were a bit strange. Constable Tonks seemed to notice their peculiarities as well, which pleased him. At first, he had been rather worried about working with her. She did seem terribly young and inexperienced officers were apt to be impulsive. He remembered his own days as a young constable. They had been fraught with mistakes and embarrassments that only experience had laid to rest.

Halfway around the green, Brodie stopped and rested against someone's garden wall. There was a deal of activity in the village and the greater part of it seemed to be focused around several rowan trees just off the chalk lane that wound around the common. Children with silky ribbons draped on their arms danced around the sheltering trees, tying the scrapes to low-hanging branches. Brodie guessed the oldest to be roughly ten and he was charmed by the pleasant, earthy folk song the group chanted.

A breeze blew up the lane from Willoway's harbor, tempting the ribbons dangling from the branches. They stirred fitfully.

He sighed, a feeling of immense relief and relaxation pouring over him. There was almost something magical in the children's high-pitched voices, something enchanting.

But he was forced from the soothing reverie by a scene straight out of the old Bard's _Macbeth_. Beyond the stand of rowan trees, a flickering light caught his gaze. At first, he assumed it was a bonfire. It wouldn't be an unusual sight this time of year, what with May Day a few days away.

Touched by curiosity, Brodie walked around to the other side of the green and spied a great cast iron pot set over a low fire. In the beguiling shadows of dusk, he noticed a cloaked figure darting around the flame. Two pale hands emerged from the sleeves and blood dripped from fresh punctures in the long fingers.

Stunned, Brodie jumped backwards, his legs catching on another low garden wall. He was sent tumbling onto his behind into the fragrant grass.

With a hiss, the startling crimson trailed down the figure's open palms and into the waiting cauldron below.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Thanks so much for taking the time to read! If you have a free moment, please leave a review. I cherish all feedback.


	5. Chapter Four The Schoolhouse

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Rowling's work. However, all OCs mentioned herein belong to me.

**Chapter Four The Schoolhouse**

Tonks awoke the next morning at a quarter past eight. The sun had already ruptured the horizon and from the window in her room she could see it painting the dewy green with pleasant, tawny rays. A man wearing a tweed cap led his pony and cart down the High Street, whistling as he went. The tune reverberated off the cluster of buildings surrounding _The Honeybee_.

_It's like a fairy-tale_, she thought to herself, snatching her policewoman's uniform off the chair she had laid it on the night before. A few tell-tale wrinkles snaked down the sleeves of her jacket.

Tonks frowned, thinking of the neat as a pin Brodie.

_Brodie!_ Ugh, she had almost forgotten about him. He had probably risen before dawn and scoured the entire island for signs of vandalism. Something about the man made her feel incredibly lazy, or at least, inattentive.

_Like a rookie_, she noted bitterly. Well, she certainly wouldn't give him the satisfaction of berating her for appearing slovenly.

Picking up her wand from the nightstand, she pressed the tip of it to the most offending wrinkle in her jacket and tried to iron it out. Of course, her mum had always been better at housewife spells. Tonks sighed as she watched the wrinkle straighten, but not disappear entirely.

_Oh bloody well_.

After dressing quickly, she headed downstairs to the tavern to find the grouchy Sergeant. As luck would have it, she had forgotten to tie the laces of her shoes and nearly landed on her knees at the bottom of the stairway.

Brodie looked up at her from where he was sitting in the back room.

"Good morning," Tonks panted slightly.

"Morning," was his crisp reply.

Stooping, she hastily fixed her shoelaces and stumbled over to his table. A pot of lukewarm tea sat in the very center of it, offsetting a pretty daisy in a vase. Tonks snatched a piece of rye toast from a plate near her elbow and munched thoughtfully.

"Did you sleep well?" she asked Brodie, only realizing after how stupid her question had been.

As it was, the Sergeant looked as though he hadn't slept at all. There were unattractive bags under his grey eyes, leaving his face puffy and somewhat sallow.

"I have insomnia," he muttered, as if to excuse his appearance.

"Oh." Tonks was just about to offer him some of the sleeping potion she always kept on herself, but then remembered what a foolish thing that would be.

"Did you enjoy your walk last night?" she asked instead.

Brodie cleared his throat, keeping his eyes on a few rough sketches he was working on. "Quite. In fact, I thought we'd start with the school today. If the wee ones are behind any of the vandalism, we might be able to root out some trouble there."

Tonks swallowed another mouthful of dry toast and coughed. "I thought we were going with the ritual theory."

Which reminded her…she _had_ to contact Kingsley.

"Aye, aye." Brodie waved his hand. "But we ought to keep abreast of several leads. Of course, it's entirely possible that some of the children might have seen something and, in turn, be more forthcoming than the adults. I saw a group of younglings on the green last night. There seems to be no curfew here."

"Do we have the authority to establish one?" Tonks asked, forgetting, for a minute, that as a constable she should know the answer to her own question.

Brodie, however, didn't seem to pay any mind to her flub.

"That's a last resort. We'd have to get permission from the Justice of the Peace first."

"Who is he?"

"Uh…one Kentigern Rook. A sort of gentleman farmer. We'll have to meet with him as well."

"Of course." Tonks craned her neck a little, trying to see past Brodie's hands to what he was drawing. "I didn't know you were an artist."

Brodie shook his head, this time displaying a rare bit of amusement. "Not at all. I've sketched us a rough map of the island…at least, what I know of it. It might be handy to keep a copy on you. We wouldn't want to get lost." He handed Tonks a sheet of paper.

She studied the map intently. Brodie's attention to detail impressed her. He had memorized a fair bit of the High Street and the surrounding lanes, including the harbor.

When she looked up to compliment him, she noticed the Sergeant stealthily hiding a drawing of a robin in his briefcase.

_Liar_, she thought to herself, biting back a smile.

After they had both finished a good cup of tea, they left the backroom of the inn and proceeded through the tavern out onto the street. Dermott was sweeping the cobblestones outside and he waved them both off with a hearty grin.

Crossing the green, Tonks allowed herself to marvel at the charming simplicity of Willoway. Shopkeepers were going about their business, opening their stores and setting some of their wares out onto the street. Women in long, flowery dresses skirts strolled leisurely along the High Street. And when they drew nigh of the school, Tonks noticed a whole group of apple-cheeked boys kicking a dusty ball about in a small meadow.

"School mustn't have started yet," she told Brodie, but then heard soft, lilting voices come wafting out of the one-storey schoolhouse.

_Where the bee sucks, there suck I_

_In a cowslip's bell I lie_

_There I couch when owls do cry_

_On the bat's back do I fly! [1]_

She smiled, squinting as they stepped out of the relative shade of a row of cherry trees into the schoolyard.

"Shakespeare," Brodie noted dryly. "The Tempest, if I'm not mistaken."

"How adorable!" Tonks bleated.

Brodie glanced at her, his eyes unreadable. "If you want, I'll talk to the lads first. You can handle the girls inside."

"Sure thing."

And she left him to the gamboling boys in the meadow. Upon entering the school building, she noticed an empty classroom to her right which most assuredly was assigned to the boys. On her left there was a second classroom filled with girls. A tall, buxom young woman stood by the blackboard, her black hair falling carelessly down her back in a tumble of well-groomed curls.

Tonks felt instantly jealous and wished she could imitate the sleek look instead of sporting her short, dirty-blond locks.

The singing had stopped, much to her disappointment and the teacher was addressing her students in a warm, chirruping voice.

"Remember, whoever finds the frog-eyed stone first will chose the game at recess today. Now off you go! And don't leave the school grounds."

The girls scurried out of their desks and Tonks stepped to the side in the hall, allowing them to pass. But one child stopped in the doorway, a grin spreading across her milky features.

"Dora! Hullo Dora!" Lessie, the young girl from the Apothecary, waved excitedly at Tonks.

"Hi Lessie, it's nice to see you again," Tonks replied with a genuine smile.

Lessie glanced at her young friends. "See, I told you I knew her!" And with that the girls trotted out into the sunshine, leaving Tonks alone in the hall.

"Good morning!" The school teacher turned slightly to look at her visitor, one hand working vigorously as she erased the small chalkboard at the head of the classroom. "You must be Auror Tonks. Lessie has told us all about you. She was so excited to meet a real Auror." The woman paused, dropping the eraser onto the chalk tray and dusting her hands on her pants. "I'm Mary MacFarlene, by the way. Please, come in, come in!"

Tonks stepped slowly into the room, her mouth opened slightly in shock. "Excuse me, Miss MacFarlene-"

"Mary."

"Umm, Mary. I'm a bit confused. I wasn't aware that there was a magical school on Willoway."

Mary, who had set about tidying her desk, raised her eyebrows. "This is the only school on the island, if that's what you mean."

"Then…then what about the Muggle children," Tonks replied, her mind working feverishly. There _had_ to be a school for the non-magical children somewhere, unless…unless…

"Muggles!" Mary looked amused. "I'm afraid there haven't been any Muggles on Willoway in over fifty years."

"What?!?" Tonks gaped at the schoolmistress and then quickly glanced out the window at Brodie. He was standing in the middle of the meadow, talking to some of the older boys.

"Is that the Muggle copper you brought along with you?" Mary asked, craning her neck to see out the window. "My, he is a sight in his pretty uniform, aye?"

"Yeah," Tonks answered numbly. "But…I'm sorry, I'm just confused. I thought Willoway had a mixed populace of magical and Muggle residents."

"Such a small island as this?" Mary said lightly. "Oh, I should think that would be quite impossible. The fact is, all the Muggle and magical families were intermarried decades ago. Sure, we have a few squibs amongst us these days, but we're all proud half-bloods. Does the Ministry have a problem with that?"

"Of course not," Tonks said quickly. She made a mental note to inform Kingsley that the Ministry needed to update its census records. As far as she knew, Hogsmeade was the only completely magical settlement in all of Britain.

"What do you teach the children here?" she asked out of honest curiosity. Scanning the walls of the classroom, she noticed several strange tableaus depicting the steps to outdated dances, more common during the days when magic had been intertwined with druidism.

"All the proper rituals," said Mary, looking suddenly proud. "And, of course, we pay special attention to potion making."

"For Willoway's Ointments and Healing Salves," Tonks mused. "But what do you mean by rituals?" Carefully, she edged her way around some of the students' desks, catching her hip an a chair and wincing.

She was starting to feel undeniably concerned. These people seemed a little backwards.

"Well, right now, we're studying purification ceremonies, such as the driving of kine through need-fire."

Tonks turned to stare at Mary. Certainly, need-fires and cows weren't the standard curriculum at Hogwarts. Which reminded her…

"A few of these girls seem old enough to be in school," she said. "Hogwarts, I mean."

"Ah." Mary nodded knowingly. "You are indeed a sharp-eyed Auror. Yes, a few of my girls are of age, but we find it best to keep them on Willoway. We're a very close-knit community here and so many parents cannot stand to part with their children. However, I must say, they get a better education than ever they would on the mainland."

Tonks couldn't believe what she was hearing. "I'll have to report this to the Ministry," she said, starting to feel like a stick in the mud.

Mary did not seem perturbed. "That's perfectly fine. I trust, however, that you did not come here solely to reform our educational system."

"Er, no." Tonks flushed slightly as she forced her mind back to the original purpose of her investigation. "The Ministry sent me here to look into several matters of vandalism. The Auror office received complaints of magical vandalism. At first, we thought it was a matter of Muggle abuse on the part of a few rowdy teenagers, but-"

"Yes?" Mary's clever eyes were trained directly on Tonks.

The young Auror stopped herself before she could give any other details away. "I want to know if you can give me any information about the vandalism. Have you seen anything…heard anything…anything at all." Tonks realized she was starting to sound desperate and blushed.

Mary thought for a moment in silence before saying anything. "The only disturbance I could think of happened three nights ago," she said. "I was washing for bed when I heard an awful ruckus outside my house. When I opened the door, I saw a dead chicken had been left on my front step and there was a fox running up the street. I assumed the beast killed the poor chicken, though why he left it on my step, I don't know."

"Perhaps he was in the middle of his dinner and you scared him away?" Tonks offered. In her opinion, she didn't think the occurrence was that rare for the country.

Mary, however, seemed acutely disturbed. "I'm not sure," she said simply, but was interrupted when one of her students rushed into the room holding a bilious green rock aloft.

"Miss Mary! Miss Mary! I've found it!"

Tonks stepped to the side and watched as Mary took the rock from the girl and examined it.

"Well done, Beth," she commented. "And what a lovely specimen of a frog-eyed stone this is!"

The other children were now returning to the schoolhouse, along with the boys who wearily marched into the room on the other side of the hall. Tonks realized her interview with the teacher was over, but not before she had one vital question answered.

"One last thing, Mary," she said, her voice raised to carry above the din of the students. "If this island is home to only magical residents, then why did you contact the Muggle police to investigate the vandalism?"

Mary shook her head absently. "I have no idea."

* * *

_[1] As Sergeant Brodie said, this song does indeed come from Shakespeare's "The Tempest" and is performed in Act Five by the sprite Ariel. _


	6. Chapter Five Wandless

**Disclaimer:** I claim no ownership of Rowling's work. However, all OCs mentioned herein belong to me.

**Chapter Five Wandless**

Brodie's interview with the school boys was a disaster. Well, not an outright disaster, but if the Chief Constable of the West Highland Police had been within earshot, he might have considered the Sergeant a complete bungler.

It should not have been nearly as difficult as it was. Although nearing forty-three, Brodie remembered his childhood in a small, coast-hugging Scottish town with perfect nostalgia. Even though he couldn't quite relate to young boys these days, he thought he would at least be capable of carrying on a friendly chat. After all, he was no stranger to children. His younger brother had three boys and a girl all under twelve years of age. And in the course of his police work, Brodie had encountered and dealt with many children, be they juvenile delinquents or the wide-eyed witnesses to crimes.

He was both shocked and a little humbled then, to discover that the children of Willoway were like foreigners, utterly un-Scottish and completely at odds with reality.

Or so it seemed to him.

When he first approached the lads at their game of football, they didn't rightly recognize him as a policeman.

The older boys were standoffish and aloof, while the younger ones expressed keen curiosity.

"Are you the new milkman?" one sandy-haired six-year old asked.

"Not at all," Brodie corrected him gently. "I'm a policeman from the mainland. A policeman…you know…a officer of the law."

They were all thoroughly nonplussed.

"What's the matter then?" the eldest of the boys asked. He was standing in a defensive position, hips slanted, the ball tucked underneath his arm.

"I just wondered if we could have a chat," Brodie replied, ignoring the boy's arrogance with some difficulty. "I've come here to investigate several cases of vandalism…unlawful graffiti and the destruction of private property. Can ask I you lads a few questions?"

What followed was the most agonizing twenty minutes of his police career. The children were clueless, undeniably clueless. And although they spoke the same dialect, with soft, lilting brogues, Brodie found he had a hard time understanding them.

The children were entirely detached from the world as he knew it. In essence, they seemed more organic with their home knitted sweaters and unruly hair.

Natural, that was the word for them. Unable to relate, well, to reality. They even eschewed time, speaking in figures of seasons as opposed to weeks and months.

Brodie could get absolutely nothing out of them and he began to wish that Constable Tonks would finish her interview with the schoolmistress and come to his aid.

Well, not that he needed help, really. He wasn't _that_ out of touch…or was he?

Feeling ruffled, Brodie flipped his notebook closed and tucked his pen back into his breast pocket. "Thank you, lads," he said, effectively ending the mostly one-sided conversation.

Some of the younger boys had already scampered off to play by then, though the older ones still watched him warily.

Brodie glanced at the schoolhouse. Through the large, paned windows he could see his partner talking with the teacher. Well, he wouldn't interrupt her. Perhaps she was having more luck than him.

Not wanting to waste any precious time, Brodie decided to leave the yard and walk up the road to a line of neat cottages. The school was still in view and he could keep an eye out for Tonks in case she emerged. While she was busy, he hoped to find a gossipy housewife or two at home, someone who would be pleased to chat with him and perhaps dispense some important information about the vandalism.

So far, he had no evidence except for the letters and photographs that had been sent directly to his constabulary. Could the trouble have blown over by now? Maybe the hoodlum (or hoodlums) had tired of the high jinks already? Or perhaps this was all an elaborate prank?

If so, Brodie would want to charge the islanders with filing a false report…but he couldn't very well point the finger of blame at all the residents of Willoway.

Sweating under the surprisingly warm late April sun, Brodie found his handkerchief in his back pocket and wiped his brow. He had reached the first of the cottages now and it was indeed a pretty thing. Something out of a postcard with its thatched roof and whitewashed walls. He stepped through the gate and strolled up the path of crushed seashells. But before he had lifted the knocker on the door, he noticed a piece of paper tacked to the mailbox.

_Gone to market_, read the loopy script. _Leave all packages on doorstep._

Damn! His luck was running rotten. Oh well, three cottages to go.

Brodie visited the first two and found the occupants missing. Some, he guessed, must have been to work. The rest were possible running errands. There was no use waiting around for a housewife to return with a bundle of groceries and in no mood to talk.

With little anticipation, he approached the last cottage in the row. From the street, it looked very much like the others, small and tidy, with a narrow stone wall separating the garden from the road. Brodie laid his hand on the gate, his fingers groping for the latch. It was a moment before he heard the satisfying click of the iron bar as it lifted. He let himself into the front yard.

_Red._

Brodie's eyes widened painfully. He had stepped right into a great puddle of red on the seashell pathway. Lifting his feet one at a time, he noticed that the grass of the garden was soaked…with blood.

_Blood!_

Every muscle froze, tightening until he thought they would squeeze the very marrow out from his bones. There was blood all over the garden, all over this quaint, country garden.

_How odd it looks_, he thought absurdly. _So out of place._

Then he noticed the poor dead goat pushed up against the cottage wall. It's throat had been cut.

For the second time that morning, Brodie found himself reaching for his handkerchief. Of course, he was no stranger to dead animals. His uncle had run a sheep farm and when Brodie was an adolescent, he used to work there during summers to earn some spending money. He'd seen sheep drop dead from sickness or injuries fairly often, but this…this was wrong.

The way the goat had been arranged, why, it was almost like a display, as if the slaughterer had _wanted_ him to find the animal.

There was pride in this ghastly work, Brodie realized and it made his stomach curdle. For a brief moment, he tasted his breakfast again.

He waited until the nausea passed before stepping closer to inspect the scene. Yes, it was as he had suspected. This kill had been deliberate.

All about the goat were the same small stone cairns that had been found elsewhere on the island. Dried blood dribbled down the carefully arranged markers.

So here was the vandalism that had been reported to his constabulary. It was much more impressive up close and in the flesh. Brodie understood now why the islanders had sent so many letters to his office. They had clearly been unnerved by destruction, though what had changed their minds of late?

He would have to document this. Find Tonks and take pictures of the scene. This could be their first break.

Struggling to ignore the gory details, Brodie tried to assure himself that this was a good find. They were on their way now.

He took out his notebook and began to scribble down notes. There was no sign of a weapon. No footprints. Carefully, he moved aside several of the large plant leaves blocking part of the goat's body from view. Only then did he notice the strange tuft of hair on the windowsill above the animal's head.

No, not hair, he corrected himself. It was fur.

Brodie put his notebook away and slipped on his gloves. Pinching the tuft between his thumb and forefinger, he deposited it into a small plastic bag he kept in his pocket for evidence.

The fur was obviously not from the goat. The texture was entirely different, as was the tawny color.

To him, it almost looked like the hair of a fox…

"What are ye doing thar?" The cottage door slammed open, startling Brodie and making him take a quick step back.

Mr. Spens, the old man from the dock, stood on the front step, a pail of steaming water in hand. "Not a pretty sight, is it?" he said, his voice whistling through the empty spaces between his teeth.

Brodie stiffened, his back becoming ramrod straight. "No, sir. It isn't." He stopped short of tacking on, "sorry for your loss" because in all honesty, who ever offered condolences for a dead goat?

Instead, he said, "Do you have any idea who did this?"

Mr. Spens looked at him a bit uncertainly. "No." The word was drawn out and Brodie thought he sounded like an owl hooting.

"Well, we'll fix that," he tried to assure the bereaved man (or at least he thought Mr. Spens should be bereaved) adding a smile that was straining to be confident. "I'll have to ask you some questions, of course, though I'm sure you won't mind helping me get to the bottom of this."

Mr. Spens ignored him. Lifting his overflowing bucket of water with seemingly little effort, he sloshed its contents over the bloodstains.

"What…what are you doing?" Brodie hopped away, righteously indignant. Was this man mad? He had just destroyed the crime scene!

With horror, Brodie watched as any potential evidence was washed away. Mr. Spens dropped his bucket with a clatter and peered at the goat.

"What a mess," he clucked.

"Sir…Mr. Spens," Brodie began, trying desperately to get a hold of himself. Maybe the man _was_ senile. He had to be nearing eighty, judging by the look of him. "You…you cannot disturb the crime scene like that. I won't be able to collect evidence now. Do you understand? I won't be able to find who did this and arrest him."

"Now why would ye want to do that?" Mr. Spens scratched his liver-spotted brow, turning back inside his house.

"But-" Howie struggled.

It was too late. Mr. Spens had slammed the door in his face.

* * *

Tonks left the schoolhouse in a hurry, struggling to swallow the tight lump in her throat. Her breathing was constricted and she undid the topmost button of her policewoman's jacket.

This was _not_ good.

She couldn't possibly hope to uphold the Statute of Secrecy on an island populated only by wizards. And Brodie must have suspected _something _was awry. Eventually, she'd have to cast a Memory Charm on him, which would impede their investigation and…

Tonks stopped at the edge of the schoolyard, looking around for the Sergeant. Where was he?

The boys were finishing their game of ball, dusting off the dirty knees of their trousers and heading back inside the schoolhouse.

Brodie was nowhere to be seen.

_Oh bloody hell_.

The lump in her throat was replaced with bile and she felt as nauseous as she had the day her Dad had talked her into riding a Muggle rollercoaster at an amusement park. Everything seemed to be coming apart at the seams. The situation was nearly beyond her control now and that certainly would not bode well with the Auror Office.

She might as well face it. She was failing her final exam.

Tonks bit her lip, hard. The show wasn't over yet. She could try to clean things up and have a go at finding the vandals.

But first, she desperately needed to contact Kingsley. Brodie would have to be left to his own devices for a while, wherever he was.

Leaving the schoolyard, Tonks moved parallel along the common until she reached the outermost shops. Besides the bakery she found the tiny post office. A middle-aged woman was waiting outside, smoking a cigarette.

"Morning, lass," she said cheerfully. "Can I help you?"

"Uh, yeah." Tonks looked quickly over her shoulder, hoping, by chance, she'd see Brodie strolling up the lane.

No such luck.

"I need to send a letter. Is there an owl available?"

"Of course." The woman put out her cigarette in an flower pot filled with sand. "We only have few barn owls on hand. They're old, but sturdy. Should make it to the mainland in no time."

Better not take a chance on just one then, Tonks reasoned. "I'll take two."

The postmistress led her inside to a broad, airy room. On the wall opposite the door sat a great shelf with many cubbyholes, most of which were empty save for a few stray scrolls here and there.

After providing Tonks with some parchment and a quill pen, the woman left to fetch the owls from the back room.

While she was gone, Tonks scribbled feverishly.

_Kingsley,_

_Urgent!!!! Sent you a message last night. No response. Need your advice. According to island residents, Willoway is an integrated magical community. No Muggles. Conflicting reports on vandalism. Schoolmistress claims Muggle police were never contacted._

_How should I proceed?_

_Also, concerns over education. Children being kept from Hogwarts. Must contact Department for Magical Education. Additional investigators needed._

_Worried that Statute will not be maintained. Sergeant Brodie suspicious. Will perform Memory Charm if necessary._

_Please advise._

_Junior Auror Nymphadora Tonks_

Upon completing the first note, Tonks copied it over once more and addressed both letters to Kingsley. The postmistress returned shortly with two sleepy barn owls perched on either hand.

"Here you are," she said, shifting the birds to a perch so that the scrolls could be fastened to their legs. "That'll be ten sickles, please."

Tonks counted out the money for her. "Thanks," she said. "Will the reply arrive here at the post office?"

"It should." The postmistress nodded her double-chin. "You're staying at the _Honeybee_, aye? I'll forward any messages to Dermott as soon as I get them and he'll send them up to you."

"Brilliant," Tonks replied, still aware of the nagging worry in her gut. She left the post office feeling slightly less nauseous, but undeniably jittery.

Now she needed to find Brodie.

He couldn't have gotten far, she thought. He didn't seem the type to wander aimlessly. Maybe something had caught his attention while he was in the schoolyard with the boys?

Tonks decided to return to the schoolhouse and trace her way back. She was nearly there when a faint sound, carried teasingly on the rising Spring breeze, reached her ears. It was coming from a small hollow between the school and a row of cottages. Three willow trees bunched together formed a shaded space off the lane and Tonks saw unshod feet darting beneath the sweeping leaves.

Approaching from the side, she correctly identified the soft noise as music, that of a shrill flute. A break in the leaves showed her three of the older girls from the school all sitting in a circle on the grass with their backs to her. A fourth was leaning against the bole of a tree, playing a pennywhistle.

They seemed to be playing a clumsy game of catch.

It took Tonks a minute to realize what they were tossing about between them, but then a length of sunlight struck it and she recognized it as the green, frog-eyed stone Mary had ordered them to find.

But every time the stone changed hands, it seemed to dissolve and change shape.

Tonks stepped closer, her mouth falling open.

With each toss, the stone did indeed shift…and transform into an actual frog. It wasn't a perfect transfiguration, certainly not one Professor McGonagall would have approved off. However, Tonks was sure her old Transfiguration teacher would have raised an eyebrow at this sight.

_The girls weren't using wands!_

It was inexplicable…at least to her and she felt completely dumbfounded.

Oh, the Head of the Department for Magical Education would certainly not be pleased about this.

It was when she was struggling to overcome her shock when Brodie found her. And he saw the stone being tossed into the air by one girl and landing as a frog in the hand of another.


	7. Chapter Six Foxy Business

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Rowling's work.

**Chapter Six Foxy Business**

Tonks had the space of a second to make up her mind. Should she cast a Memory Charm on Brodie or leave him be? If Kingsley had been here, she would have gone with the former, no doubt about it. But as it was, Kingsley was in London…and not answering her messages.

Tonks was alone on Willoway. Completely alone. Save for Brodie, of course.

As much as she hated to admit it, she was going to need the Sergeant's help. And if he was going to be of any use to her, he had to have his sharp mind intact. Could she risk altering his memory?

Probably not.

But oh…she was directly violating the Statue of Secrecy!

Moody would understand, of that she was sure. Unexpected situations called for unorthodox thinking. Tonks hesitated, her fingers curling around her wand. Stepping in-between Brodie and his view of the girls tossing about their transfigured frog she whispered, "_Repello Muggletum._"

The Sergeant stared at her for a moment and with a sudden jolt of fear, Tonks thought her spell had misfired. But then Brodie's face slackened and he turned around, heading back across the green away from the girls.

When he was halfway across the common, she struck out after him, praying that he was too confused to understand what he had seen.

"I've been looking for you," Tonks panted, touching his shoulder lightly.

Brodie had removed his policeman's cap and was running a hand across his cropped, sandy hair. He waited a dreadful moment before replying.

"Sorry. I didn't want to interrupt your conversation with the schoolmistress."

_He's not going to say anything_, Tonks realized. _Probably thinks he's going mad or that the whole thing was a trick of the light. _Thank God for rationalism! She was relying on it right now.

From somewhere near the schoolhouse, a bell began to ring. The girls sitting under the willow immediately scurried off back to class, taking their stone/frog with them.

Tonks ignored their departure…and thankfully, so did Brodie.

_I'll have to keep on eye on him_, she thought. If he started to question things or gave any indication that he was aware of magic being performed, she'd be forced to alter his memory.

But not now, at least. Not now.

Tonks found herself sighing in relief. A cold bead of sweat tracked it's way down her temple and she swiped at it with the back of her hand.

"Did you have any luck with the boys?" she asked him, hoping to keep up the flow of conversation.

Brodie dropped his hat back onto his head, the brim shading his eyes from the sharp sunlight. "No. The children are clueless. But I did stumble upon a rather grisly scene. Funny, it was almost as if someone were waiting for me to come along and see it. Mr. Spens's goat was killed last night. It looked ritualistic."

"Oh." The side of her mouth rose in a half-grimace. "That's a rather violent turn to things."

"Aye."

"Do you need me to come have a look at the crime scene?"

Brodie scowled suddenly and shook his head. "Impossible. It's already been cleaned up. I couldn't even get a bloody photo of the thing. Mr. Spens was of no help."

"Rotten luck," Tonks murmured in response.

"Aye." Brodie looked slightly distracted. His brow furrowed and Tonks could tell he was thinking hard.

Strange. She'd only been with him for a day and already she had picked up on his little mannerisms.

"What are you thinking?" she blurted out.

The Sergeant glanced up at her quickly. "Did you have any luck with the schoolmistress?"

He's avoiding my question, Tonks thought. Not good. I can't let him clam up on me.

"None at all…although she did say a dead chicken had been left on her doorstep a few nights ago."

"More animals?" Brodie lifted a brow. "This is definitely ritualistic then. Sounds sacrificial, almost."

"Like a rite?" Tonks stepped out of the shade of the willows, trying to guide her partner away from the spot. He followed her easily. "But who would do that?"

"A cult?" Brodie offered. But even he seemed unsure. "This is a small island with very entrenched traditions."

"I don't know." Tonks shook her head as they headed back across the green. "I think there would be more obvious signs if that were the case."

"Maybe the signs are obvious," he replied. "Maybe we're overlooking them, eh?"

She fell silent. In all honesty, she had to give some credence to his theory. After all, the children of the island were being deliberately kept from Hogwarts. And the location _was_ extremely isolated.

Unfortunately, she couldn't share those particular facts with Brodie.

They were on the other side of the green, near _The Honeybee_, when he spoke up again.

"I think it's time we paid a visit to the patriarch of this island."

"Patriarch?" she asked with a frown.

Brodie paused just off the High Street and he looked past the cluster of shops, where the road ran into the lush countryside. "A man by the name of Kentigern Rook. He is the Justice of the Peace on the island and the wealthiest citizen. A sort of gentleman farmer. By all means, the patriarch of the community."

"Oh." Tonks felt an uncomfortable squirming in her gut. A visit to Mr. Rook did seem in order, but she ran the risk of exposing Brodie to more magic.

And yet, there was no other possible way to continue their investigation.

"All right," she said, thankful, nonetheless, that Brodie had asked for her opinion first. "It certainly seems like the thing to do."

* * *

Kentigern Rook, as they learned from Dermott the innkeeper, was indeed a popular man. As Brodie had guessed, he served as the de facto patriarch of Willoway and was also a Muggle Justice of the Peace. Tonks was surprised to learn that the man wore so many hats, especially one pertaining to Muggle society. However, since their seemed to be a free mixing of Muggle and magical culture, she decided to put her judgments aside.

Even though he was most welcoming to guests, Kentigern Rook was not easy to visit. The town had no Muggle automobiles to travel by and Flooing was certainly out of the question with Brodie tagging along.

Dermott told them both that they would have to take a pony cart up to Rook's estate and he arranged for the journey himself. Apparently, Mr. Rook was eager to meet them as well.

Tonks and Brodie met the pony cart a little way up the High Street and we're driven out of town along the main thoroughfare. Their driver was a middle-aged man with a wiry thatch of blond hair. He did not speak with them, but kept up an almost constant conversation with his pony, to him he directed many clucks and whistles.

Tonks had never been in a pony cart before. She felt a little bit like a child, looking around with wide-eyed fascination at the pastoral scenery. Most of Willoway seemed to be made up of farms, although there were a few untamed patches boasting small wooden thickets and unplowed fields.

Brodie, for his part, was as stoic as ever. He sat quietly in the seat beside her, his hands folded over his knees. Tonks decided not to trouble him with conversation.

The ride was not a very comfortable one and when they were about halfway up to Rook's estate, a midday rainstorm caught them unawares.

"Ack!" Tonks had only her policewoman's cap to protect her from getting drenched. "Wouldn't you know?"

Brodie pursed his lips, hunkering down further in the seat. The road was becoming steadily more rutted and old cart tracks were no filling with muddy water. Only the driver seemed unaffected by the weather. He did not coax his pony on any faster and ignored Tonks when she asked him to do so.

In fact, he did not directly address them until they rounded a tight bend and the foremost wheel of the cart lurched a foot into the air. This was followed by the sound of cracking wood, which Tonks at first mistook for thunder. But as she leaned over the side of their transport, she noticed that the wheel had indeed cracked and was now hanging limply off it's axel.

"Damn it all to hell!" The driver hopped down from his seat at once.

Brodie and Tonks followed timidly.

"Can you fix it?" the Sergeant asked, his voice somewhat raised to be heard over the steady rainfall.

The man shook his head. "Nah. It's broken. Have to take it to the hooper's in town. Hope you don't mind walking."

"Walking?" Tonks squeaked. She was already quite wet.

"How far is it to Rook's estate?" Brodie asked, ever reasonable.

The driver was barely paid them notice, his attention fixed solely on his disabled vehicle. " 'Bout a mile, maybe less. If ye look to the horizon, ye can just see the top of his house."

Tonks glanced towards the west and saw little but rain clouds.

"Ye just follow the road anyway," the driver muttered. He was already unfastening his pony from between the traces. "Can't get lost."

"Ugh." Tonks groaned audibly and looked at Brodie. "We'll have to find someway to get back to town as well."

"Then we might as well proceed on foot," her partner replied, a small stream of water now dripping off the brim of his cap. "Come on then."

Tonks wasn't nearly as gung ho as the Sergeant. She was even tempted to offer to fix the wheel using magic, but there would be no way getting that one past Brodie. Picking her way through the mud, she headed up the road in the direction the driver had pointed out. After walking for a few woods, they entered a small thicket of oak trees. Rain pattered off bright green leaves, sliding down trunks like sap. The air was deceptively sweet and as she inhaled, Tonks was reminded of the scent of the Apothecary.

She began to feel decidedly dreamy.

Brodie gave no indication that his mood had changed. Instead, he marched quietly by her head, his shoulders slightly stooped as they approached an incline.

Once the trees had thinned. Tonks caught sight of gabled roof some ways down the road. The rest of the house was obscured by a rising dale.

"There we go," she muttered to herself. The walk hadn't been that bad after all. Perhaps her luck was turning….

Something stirred in the high grass off the road. Tonks heard the early clover quiver as a small body moved through it. She paused for a moment and stayed at the overgrown patch.

"What is it?" Brodie was right behind her and surprisingly, he put a hand on her shoulder.

Tonks jumped. "Nothing. Just a hare, I think."

"Probably flooded out of its den."

"Probably."

Brodie's hand left her shoulder and he moved on, his shoes squelching through the rising muck.

Tonks started after him.

The high grass rustled. Shocking crimson caught her eye.

_Blood._

Of course not, it was a fox.

Tonks took a startled step back as the creature crossed the road. It was a tiny, gangly animal, with fur that was more scarlet than tawny. She wasn't entirely accustomed to seeing wildlife, but she knew enough to consider its pelt outlandish.

The fox seemed to pay her no mind at first. Head down, tail drooping, it trotted between the puddles, taking care to avoid the deepening ruts in the road. But when it was almost across, it halted, lifted its head and seemed to notice her.

Wet, black nostrils flared.

Tonks discreetly slipped her hand in her pocket and guided her fingers over her wand handle.

The fox stiffened, shook its muzzle and then began to growl.

_Not now!_ She considered edging about the animal, but was too nervous to commit to any sudden movement.

The growl intensified, lengthening into a chilling snarl. White teeth, as sharp as needles, grimaced at her.

Tonks tried to get her wand out in time. She truly did. But the fox darted under her feet, using its claws to rake at her exposed ankles.

"Dammit!" she screamed, pain radiating along her calf. She attempted to take a step back, but only succeeded in sinking her foot into a rut.

And that's how Brodie found her. The Sergeant took one look at his young partner and saw the fox flashing its teeth.

Swiftly, he raised his arm and delivered a heavy blow to the animal's neck. The fox yelped and fell away from Tonks…only to latch on to Brodie's hand.

The man uttered a guttural groan, blood snaking down his wrist in rivulet.

Tonks had her wand free now, but she hesitated.

What to do?

"Fuck," she muttered to herself, jamming it back into her pocket and grabbing the fox by the tail.

"It's bloody rabid!" Brodie howled. "Don't let it bite you!"

But the fox wasn't eager to release his hand in favor of Tonks's. Instead, it sank it's teeth deeper into the Sergeant's freckled flesh.

"I can't get it off!" Tonks cried bitterly. There was more blood now, mixing with the puddles and driving rain.

Wild with pain, Brodie flailed his arm about desperately. "Christ!"

And amidst their panic, over the lush green dale there came a high whistle. It rode the wind, mingling with the chattering leaves and tinkling rain.

The fox pricked up its ears…and let go of Brodie's hand.

The Sergeant doubled over in pain, clutching his wrist. Tonks hurried to his side and inspected the wound. A series of ugly looking punctures decorated his skin, but otherwise, the flesh had not torn. This should be easy to mend…

Once more, she groped for her wand, only to realize with a sinking feeling, that a healing spell was forbidden.

Face pinched, she glanced at Brodie in concern.

"Are you all right, Alan?"

"Bah." He reached for his handkerchief, though Tonks was quicker and provided him with one of her own. "Need to get this cleaned up. Where did that creature get to, eh? If it's rabid…"

"I wouldn't worry myself if I were you. Tis just a silly old fox with bad manners."

Both Tonks and Brodie looked up. Standing a few feet ahead of them was a tall, lanky man, a patched cap pulled far down over his brow.

"Nearly took off my finger, it did," Brodie replied sharply.

The man laughed, pacing towards them in knee-high Wellingtons. "I'm sorry for it, Sergeant Brodie. And Constable Tonks, don't look so vexed. I'm sure your partner is just as strong as he looks."

Tonks found herself gaping at the stranger, her jaw slackened. "How did you-"

"Sorry." The man doffed his cap, revealing a head of thick, grey hair. "I should have introduced myself first. Mother always said I had awful manners." He held out a large hand to them. "Kentigern Rook. Lovely to meet you both."


	8. Chapter Seven The Patriarch

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Rowling's work.

**Chapter Seven The Patriarch **

The ticking of an antique grandfather clock matched Tonks's harried heartbeat. She was standing in the parlor of Rook House, a strange room that was both welcoming with its big, leather armchairs and slightly intimidating due to a cherry wood rifle cabinet by the bookshelf.

_Muggle weapons_, she thought to herself. _Why would a wizard have Muggle weapons?_

But perhaps she was wrong in assuming that Rook was wizard, just as she had been wrong about nearly everything relating to Willoway.

As if aware of her painful self-doubt and awareness, her host poked his head through the door.

"Fancy a cup of tea, Constable? I have some lovely chamomile. Or jasmine, if you want something fragrant."

"Uh, yeah." Tonks shifted her muddy shoes awkwardly, mindful of the handsome, jade carpet beneath her. "That would be great, thanks."

From somewhere outside in the yard, a dog barked shrilly. Or maybe it was a fox…

Rook smiled, his lined, distinguished face accustomed to the practiced hospitality of the gentry. "Please help yourself to some brandy. You must be freezing…all soaked through. There is a decanter on the coffee table."

"Thanks," Tonks repeated.

Rook left and for some strange reason, she was flooded with relief.

_You're just shook up_, she assured herself. _And poor Brodie…all that blood._

As soon as they had arrived at the house, Mr. Rook had shown the Sergeant to the washroom. Brodie, who at that time was looking terribly pale, had hurried off to clean and bandage the bite.

Tonks wondered if the fox that had attacked them was really rabid. Why else, then, would it have released Brodie so suddenly…and just in time for Rook to arrive?

Suddenly, Tonks felt her knees weaken and threaten to give way. She only just managed to catch herself on the arm of the sofa.

_Get a hold of yourself. Get a hold of yourself now._

The sound of rattling tea cups startled her. Mr. Rook appeared in the doorway carrying a tea service, a towel hooked over his right arm.

"Here," he said, offering her the towel after he had put down the tray on a nearby piecrust table. "I'll start us up a fire so you don't catch cold. You should be warmed up in no time."

"Thanks." Tonks took the towel from him and held it limply in her hands.

Rook knelt by the stately, grey stone hearth. "Is that all you're capable of saying? I would have expected more from an Auror."

He was being cheeky, trying to jolt her out of her malaise. Tonks felt her jaw drop. So he knew then…

She wanted to respond, but then Brodie was by her side, trying his best to wrap a length of gauze around his red, swollen hand.

"Let's have a look at that, Sergeant," Rook said, straightening up from the hearth. He had already managed to get a fire going. The smoke that issued forth was perfumed, Tonks noted and she wondered if the logs were similar to the kind used in all wizarding households.

It would make sense, of course.

"Are you certain the fox wasn't rabid?" Brodie asked. He had removed his policeman's jacket and was now standing in his white, button-down shirt. There was a large bloodstain on his right sleeve.

"Positive," Rook replied. He assisted the Sergeant with the dressing of the wound. "But that does look rather nasty. I'm going to summon the apothecary. She'll give you something to keep this from getting infected."

"Murron?" Tonks blurted out.

Both Rook and Brodie looked at her.

"Aye, that's right," their host replied. "Awfully clever girl."

Brodie seemed to doubt that. "Don't you have a doctor on this island?" he asked, his rather stodgy manner returning as quickly as it had disappeared.

Rook shook his head, one hand clawing back his shock of graying hair. "No. But I'd place my trust in Murron any day before I'd let a surgeon touch me. Now let me give her a _ring_."

Tonks knew the last bit was for Brodie's benefit alone, though she was surprised the Sergeant didn't pick up on Rook's emphasis of 'ring'. She supposed he must truly be hurting.

"Make yourselves at home," the squire said before leaving them alone.

Brodie headed over to one of the armchairs and sank into it. Tonks tried to dry herself off with the towel.

"What a rotten day," she mumbled. "Does you hand sting?"

"Aye," Brodie grumbled. He was struggling to pour himself a cup of tea with his left hand.

"Here." Tonks threw down the towel and helped him. The tea pot was rather hot and steam kissed her cheeks as she poured the water into a cup. "Milk?"

"Just sugar." Brodie was pinching the bridge of his nose with his good hand. "It's a wonder Mr. Rook doesn't think us a pair of jokers and not proper police officers. Can't even ward off a stupid fox."

This was the first time she had heard Brodie second-guess himself and it worried her more than she ever could have anticipated. Although he was an intolerably stiff man, she knew the Sergeant possessed both fortitude and confidence. That he should doubt himself now troubled her greatly.

"Well, it was a rather nasty little bugger…the fox, I mean," she said, sitting on the arm of his chair. "And it was raining and muddy. Not exactly ideal fox-fighting conditions."

Brodie laughed lowly. "You are a strange one, Tonks. But very smart. And I do appreciate your help with all this…" He waved his good hand vaguely. "Whatever this is."

Tonks was surprised to find herself blushing. Brodie approved of her? Certainly that would earn her points with the Auror Office, if she managed to complete this investigation at all.

The opening of the front door made them both jump. A woman wearing a paisley ruana and rain boots stepped into the stone-floored foyer, hanging her hat on the burnished, Victorian coat rack.

Tonks immediately recognized the pretty girl as Murron.

"How on earth did you get here so fast?" Brodie asked. He was sitting forward in his chair, examining the newcomer.

Rook, who joined the apothecary in the foyer, answered for her. "Murron wasn't at her shop," he said lightly. "But her sister told me she was visiting Mrs. Cameron just up the road from here. Lucky for us, isn't it?"

Brodie observed their host, who was standing casually with his hands in the pockets of his corduroy pants. "Very fortunate. And thank you, Murron, for coming on such short notice to see me."

Murron was busy shaking her thick, auburn hair out. It fell in luscious waves down her shoulders, framing her face and making her appear cherubic. "It was my pleasure," she trilled, her every movement slow and languid. "A fox was it? How awful!"

"Why don't you take the Sergeant to the kitchen," Rook suggested. "The light is better in there and you'll have room to mix-up a salve."

"Of course." Murron beckoned to Brodie and Tonks felt herself bristling. There was something sensual about her body language and she might as well have been inviting Brodie into her bedroom.

"You'll be all right for a while?" the Sergeant asked Tonks.

She was pleased by his consideration. "Sure thing. Don't worry about me." Her voice, however, must have hinted at some hesitancy, because Brodie lingered a bit in the parlor doorway. When he had finally disappeared with Murron, Tonks sank wearily into his vacated chair.

Rook paused a minute in the foyer, glancing down the hall, before he finally joined her in the parlor.

"Your Muggle friend is quite out of earshot," he said. "I think we are free to talk."

Tonks picked up Brodie's half-emptied teacup to disguise the slight trembling of her hands. Exhaustion and worry was starting to wreck havoc on her. She wondered if Kingsley had received her owls yet. His advice was sorely needed.

"I am sorry for this sudden intrusion, Mr. Rook-"

"Kentigern," he replied, interrupting her. "We're very informal around here."

Tonks tried to smile up at him. "Your house says otherwise," she said, feeling the need to play devil's advocate. And indeed, she had been greatly impressed by his stately manor. The façade was one of good grey stone, with a high gabled roof that reminded her of a Tudor structure. Inside, however, it was cosy, warm and decidedly masculine…quite at odds with the quaint, farmer's cottages that made up the town.

"That was my grandmother's doing," Rook said. He seated himself on the brown leather couch across from her. "She built this house after she purchased the island in the late 19th century."

"Your family owns Willoway?" Tonks asked. She had no idea that the island was private property and felt even more like trespasser.

Rook rested his arms across his knees and leaned forward. "Not any more. She sold back the shares to all the islanders. It was stipulated in her will. She was very industrious, my grandmother and she heartily believed in rewarding hard work."

Tonks set Brodie's tea cup back down. The fire hissed and crackled, gnawing greedily at the logs Rook had thrown into the hearth. "I'm sorry," she said slowly. "I don't follow you."

Rook's smile widened and she noticed his rather sharp canines. "That's quite understandable. I do hope you'll allow me to explain."

"Please do."

Rook stood, rounded the sofa and paused before the bookcase. With his long, clever fingers, he extracted a thin book which looked more like a folder and brought it over to Tonks.

"This is my family album…of a sort, anyway," he said, opening to the first page so that she could see a very old picture of Willoway. "My grandmother's name was Hester Rook. She was an Englishwoman from Kent and she worked as a healer at St. Mungo's Hospital in London from the time she was twenty. Hester was a very bright witch. She excelled in potions and herbology. During her time at the hospital, she started work on her very own healing ointments for victims of magical burns. Unfortunately, the ointments and salves did little to improve her patients' badly damaged skin, although she found they worked wonders for the complexion cosmetically."

He paused and turned over another page, revealing two pictures. One was of a young, sour-faced woman in the lime robes of a healer. The other was of the same woman, aged at least forty years, kneeling in a garden, her face shadowed by a wide-brimmed sun hat.

"She looks very, umm, formidable," Tonks added uncertainly.

Rook laughed. "Indeed she was. Shortly after her discovery, Hester set about producing her ointments commercially, although she found she could only grow small amounts of the necessary herbs and plants in her family's greenhouse. After several unsuccessful harvests, she began searching for a new location to set up a farm. It was then that she found Willoway."

Rook sighed appreciatively. Tonks shifted away from him, busying herself by pouring another cup of tea.

"Willoway is unique in its climate," Rook continued, "as you may have noticed. There is a gulf stream current around this island and the soil, when coaxed with the proper spells, is surprisingly fertile. Hester sold her ancestral family home in Kent, which was worth a pretty penny and bought this island. In those days, it was mostly barren and the farmers barely survived on herds of skinny sheep and poor fishing. Hester employed the islanders and started a massive operation to produce her own brand of cosmetic products."

"Willoway's Healing Ointments and Salves," Tonks murmured.

"Exactly." Rook turned another page of the album, revealing a picture of workmen tilling a huge field and dropping seeds into the dark, luscious soil. "Her venture was an amazing success. By the time of her death, Hester was one of richest witches in Scotland, but more importantly, she was beloved by the community of Willoway. She had turned their desperate little island into a paradise, a land of milk and honey, if you will."

"But wasn't there a Muggle presence on the island?" Tonks asked, eager to get to the crux of her confusion. Rook's little history lesson was thoroughly informative, but she needed to know just how this island was currently operating and why oh why the Muggle police had been alerted to a seemingly magical crime.

"There was," Rook answered. He closed the album and placed it on the coffee table. "In fact, that was one of my grandmother's greatest challenges in acquiring Willoway. She learned, however, that the Statute of Secrecy was rather lax in this rural community. Muggles and wizards had lived side by side for decades. Many of them had intermarried. By the time of Hester's death, the separate communities were completely integrated. We haven't maintained the Statute here since."

"Then why were the Muggle police contacted about the vandalism? We assumed a Muggle resident had written to the mainland constabulary requesting help, but no one here seems to have any knowledge of it."

Rook looked at Tonks seriously, his sharp, blue eyes trained on her face. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about. We don't commit vandalism up here. We're a very peaceful people."

Tonks felt her frustration surge to new heights, along with her suppressed anger. She stood to relieve the building tension in her muscles. "Then there is the matter of your system of magical education. The schoolmistress, Mary MacFarlene, informs me that you do not send any of your children to Hogwarts."

"My, you have been busy!" Rook seemed genuinely impressed and not at all troubled by her concern.

Tonks flushed, realizing that she must not appear authoritative to him. "I'll have to report this to the Ministry. In fact, I already have. You are the magistrate of Willoway, yes?"

"That is correct, though the residents prefer to call me their Patriarch."

"Then how can you not be aware of magical law?"

Rook raised both of his steely brows and pondered her. "As far as I know, there is no set law against parents educating their children the way they see fit. And if you believe we are practicing dark magic on this island, then I encourage you to sit in on one of Miss MacFarlene's lesson. As I said, we're a very peaceful people here."

"Really?" Tonks was considerably irked. She rolled her shoulders, feeling the fabric of her police jacket stiffen as it dried. "Then why did Sergeant Brodie find a slaughtered goat sitting plainly in the front yard of a cottage? That doesn't seem very peaceful to me. And mind, we do have ample evidence of the vandalism…if you're trying to orchestrate a cover-up-"

"I assure you." Rook stood now, towering over her. "We have nothing to hide here on Willoway."

Tonks was about to contradict him, in fact, she sorely wanted to, but was distracted by Brodie, who suddenly appeared in the foyer.

"Ah, our wounded copper returns," Rook said pleasantly. "I trust Murron took very good care of you."

"Aye," Brodie muttered. His hand was wrapped in clean white linen and he flexed it carefully.

"It was my pleasure, truly." Murron was on the Sergeant's heel. She placed a feathery hand on one of his broad shoulders.

Tonks met her gaze and was surprised to find a challenge in the woman's eyes. It was bare, bold-faced and utterly infuriating.

But why?

"I think we'd best be going," she said, her jaw clenching.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Hopefully this chapter answers a few questions, though certainly not many regarding Willoway.

As always, I'd like to thank all those who took the time to read and review. *hugs* Your support has meant so much to me.

The next chapter has been completed and should be posted soon. Take care!


	9. Chapter Eight Shifting Shadows

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Rowling's work.

**Chapter Eight Shifting Shadows**

The taproom of the _Honeybee_ was much more crowded than it had been the previous evening. Tonks and Brodie returned to the inn in the late afternoon and had dinner in the back. They were both exhausted.

"How's your hand?" she asked, watching him as he tried to close his stiff fingers over a fork.

"Not so bad," he replied. "I'm quite surprised, actually. "Whatever that Murron rubbed into the bite really helped."

"Oh." Tonks picked at her kidney beans unenthusiastically. Once more, the islanders had succeeded in violating the Statute. Magical medicine, which she assumed Murron had used, was never to be administered to Muggles unless supervised by a licensed healer at St. Mungo's.

"Did you learn anything from Mr. Rook?" Brodie asked in return. "We ought to have stayed longer. I wish I could have asked him a few questions."

Tonks realized that he was criticizing her, but doing it politely at least. She hid her frown behind the rim of her cup. "Not really. His grandmother bought the island in the late 19th century, though the shares reverted back to farmers at the time of her death. He claimed to know nothing of the vandalism. It's all…well, it's all rubbish, frankly."

Brodie glanced at her. "Rubbish?"

Tonks shrugged. She was feeling very disheartened at the moment. When they had first returned to the inn, she pulled Dermott aside and asked if he had received any messages from Kingsley. Much to her disappointment, not a bit of news had come in all day.

As soon as she had the opportunity, she would try to contact Kingsley through the Floo network. It wasn't like him to ignore her, especially considering the urgent nature of her situation. Until she got through to him, however, Brodie was the only back-up she had.

"I've been meaning to thank you," she said, feeling rather awkward about the whole thing. "You got that fox off me. It's really my fault that you were bitten."

"It's fine." Brodie stopped playing with his food. "Don't you remember what they taught us in the Police College?"

"Uh?"

"The safety of yourself and your partner is top priority. I wouldn't expect anything less from you, just as you shouldn't expect anything less from me."

Tonks stared at her empty glass, the ice cubes shifting within as they melted. "Still…thanks."

Brodie shook his head. Like her, he seemed eager to drop the matter.

The noise from the tavern bubbled over into the next room. People were laughing, shouting and chattering away in pleasant staccato tones. Suddenly, a man stood up on a table and cried, "Hail the queen of the May!"

"Hail!" The patrons all replied. Glasses were raised in a toast.

"What was that all about?" Tonks asked. She turned around in her chair and glanced over her shoulder at the lively group.

Brodie touched his lips with a napkin. "Something to do with May Day, I would assume. It's only a day or two away, isn't it?"

"What's that? A harvest festival?"

"No, that's in the fall," Brodie corrected her. "May Day is a fertility festival, or at least it was back in the old days. It has to do with springtime and rebirth. Haven't you ever seen it celebrated with maypoles and Morris dancing?"

Tonks nodded. She was vaguely aware of the tradition, though it certainly wasn't popular in the wizarding community.

"It's still important in rural regions such as this," Brodie continued. "In fact, they can get positively medieval about it."

"Do you think the vandalism could be related?" she asked him. "Maybe some sort of May Day prank?"

"Possibly, although that's something I would relate more to Halloween."

"Are there any rituals involving animal sacrifice that you know of?" Tonks asked, remembering what Mary had said about the dead chicken and the goat Brodie had found earlier.

"In pagan culture, yes," Brodie replied. "But certainly not today."

"Hmm." Tonks fluffed her flat hair with her fingers. "It's something to keep in mind, though."

Brodie seemed a little less convinced. Frowning, he threw down his napkin and stood. "I'm going to speak to the patrons," he said. "Perhaps one of them heard something of Mr. Spens's goat being attacked. Although there seems to be a policy of hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil on this island."

"Good luck," Tonks said wryly. After Brodie left, she pushed her plate away and sank down in her chair. She had absolutely no appetite and would much rather crawl up to her room for a nap than ponder the complexities of a seemingly unsolvable case.

Maybe she wasn't cut out to be an Auror. When it came down to it, she was unable to make any headway in what should have been a simple case.

_Three years of training wasted_, she thought, rubbing her aching temples vigorously. _Now what do I do?_

Her mum had always hoped she'd take up some bureaucratic work with the Ministry, though Tonks honestly couldn't even see herself keeping a simple filing system together. She had a hard enough time matching up all her socks.

Well, she could always apply for Hit-Wizard instead of Auror. The testing process was supposedly much less rigorous and she was sure she could at least scrape by.

_But oh, I really wanted to be an Auror_.

Tonks scowled, frustrated by her own depression. She was acting as though the case were already over and done with. There was still time and Brodie seemed to have a few solid ideas.

She noticed he had left his case notebook on the table next to his plate and decided to take a gander. Perhaps the notes he had jotted down would spark something in her mind. Certainly Brodie wouldn't care if she had a peek? They were partners, after all.

Snatching up the notebook, she flipped it open and skimmed through the first few pages. The Sergeant had only scribbled down his first impressions of the island along with the names and addresses of those he had interviewed. There was also an account of how he found Mr. Spens's goat and some mention of his fruitless talk with the school boys.

In reading Brodie's notes, Tonks deduced that his impressions were much the same as hers. Finding nothing of use, she studied the small sketches he had made in the margins of notable landmarks and places about Willoway. There was a drawing of the docks and a surprisingly accurate map of the streets surrounding the green which was quite similar to the one he had lent her earlier in the day.

Near the back of the notebook, she found a detailed sketch of the green at night. Brodie, with his meticulous attention to detail, had included everything from the may pole to the children loitering around the trees.

But there was a small, indistinct drawing in the bottom hand corner that confused her. At first, she could barely make out the figures, which were made up of harried, uncertain pencil strokes. Squinting, she turned the notebook on its side and studied the picture from a different angle.

A gasp shot through her teeth.

The sketch was of a cloaked woman standing before a cauldron. Her long hands were outstretched and tiny droplets rained from her fingers.

Tonks snapped the notebook closed and set it back next to Brodie's plate.

_He had seen magic. _

She clenched her jaw. The situation was becoming dangerous. If Brodie had sensed something…of he had guessed that…

"No luck." The Sergeant strolled back into the dining room, his bandaged hand held carefully against his stomach. "There seems to be some sort of celebration going on--I couldn't even get a word out of the landlord."

"Oh." Tonks sat up slowly. "Pity. We should, umm, we should-"

"I think we should set up a routine foot patrol tonight," Brodie said, pacing before the table. "It will be difficult with only the two of us, but it seems as though most of the criminal activity takes place at night. It might be our last shot to catch something."

Tonks, for once, was completely speechless. "Fine with me," she managed after a moment's hesitation.

In the taproom, another raucous toast was raised.

"Hail the Queen of the May!"

* * *

Brodie was methodical in organizing their evening patrol. The _Honeybee_ would serve as a de facto headquarters and the green was their striking out point. They would each take a side of the common and move through the streets until they met by the main road leading out of the village. Afterwards, they would switch beats and meet up again on the opposite side of the town by the docks.

Brodie had packed torches and police radios, although he was surprised that Tonks did not have a truncheon of her own. She assured him that she was quite safe and wouldn't need it so long as he was close by.

"Are you certain you don't want my truncheon?" he asked her as they were heading out from the _Honeybee_ at half past nine. The inn had emptied within the last hour and most of the revelers were still out on the green.

Tonks waved him away with impressive confidence. "I'll be fine, really. You shouldn't worry about me."

"I'm not doubting your capability," Brodie put in as she smiled at him. "But we are rather outnumbered."

They both glanced at the celebrants on the green who were clustered about a small bonfire. The islanders were singing in slurred, lisping voices,

_Gently, gently, gently, Johnny_

_Oh gently, Johnny!_*

"Honestly, Sergeant," Tonks chuckled. "I think I can handle myself."

Brodie frowned slightly and watched the staggering singers. "Quite right." He hesitated for a moment, then said, "Shall we get started?"

Tonks swung her torch carelessly by her side. "No time like the present. Take care of yourself, will you? One maimed hand is enough for today." Her tone was perfectly jovial, although underneath, he thought he detected a hint of real concern.

For a moment, he was taken aback, unaccustomed to having someone worry about him. How strange.

Nonetheless, he quickly gained his composure, turning down the lane that accessed the main road.

They separated at the head of the green. Brodie looked over his shoulder only once and watched Tonks stroll off in the opposite direction. Left alone, he set off down a side-street and walked between two rows of neat shops.

To his surprise, the storefronts were not shuttered and locked as he had expected, but ablaze with candle light. Some proprietors were even busy hanging garlands of flowers over their doors.

May Day indeed, Brodie thought as he directed the light of his torch over the doorways. Unfortunately for him, he caught a couple of young lovers tucked into an alcove, taking part in what could be politely called a lewd act.

Had he been back on the mainland, Brodie would have ticketed them for public indecency, though right now, he had neither the time nor the manpower to support his threats.

Instead, he turned his torchlight back to the cobbled street and proceeded on. From the green, he could still hear the drunken revelers, their voices distorted and strained as the wind rose.

_Gently, gently, gently Johnny!*_

Brodie frowned. What useless nonsense. He was beginning to wonder if the residents of Willoway had become well and truly warped due to their isolation. Singing at all hours. Disrespecting law enforcement officers. It was enough to drive one…

Up ahead, a small dog-like figure crossed the lane…and promptly took the form of a human shadow.

Brodie stumbled to a halt.

My God…_my God!_

Instinct gave way to rational thought and Brodie lurched forward into the dark. Twilight had fallen given way to night, skewing shades and light alike. He blinked rapidly and forced himself to take deep, calming breaths.

He must be mistaken…must have seen something else…

Fear leapt to life within him, terrible, maddening fear which edged his reason with delusion.

Something was horribly wrong. Horribly, undeniably wrong.

And it was this island…

Keeping his steps light and quick, Brodie steadied himself, heading off in the direction he had seen the fox, er, man go.

There was an explanation for what he had seen. Of course there was. His sanity depended on it.

A sheen of sticky, cold sweat trailed down his neck, leading a shiver up his spine. The street was silent, _wretchedly_ silent and even the strains of drunken singing had faded away into wisps of reality now lost to delirium.

But Brodie was determined…he would put things right in his mind again. He would see that shadows had a way of deceiving the careless eye. That superstitions could wreck havoc on the truth.

The cobblestones were slippery beneath his shoes and he lost his balance. Nearly tripped. Nearly fell flat on his face.

Stumbling, Brodie directed the meager light from his torch into the darker recesses of the street. The fox…where was that damned, bloody fox?

A figure stepped into the gutter. Brodie swallowed a shocked gasp.

"Are you all right, Sergeant?" The voice was a siren's call out of the maelstrom.

He turned, the beam from his torch swinging widely. Murron was standing in the apothecary doorway, the light from within silhouetting her soft form.

"I…" he began, but trailed off. There was no justifying what he had just seen. Only a mad man could make sense of it and surely, he was not mad. Not mad at all. "Miss, did you see anyone come this way just now?"

Murron shock her head. "All things are quite silent, Sergeant. Everyone is out on the green."

Absentmindedly, Brodie lifted his cap from his head and scratched his skull with bandaged fingers. "Was there really nothing? A fox, perhaps? Are you sure you didn't see a wee creature pass this way?"

"Can't say that I have, although Mrs. Buchanan usually puts her cat out around this time." Murron leaned casually against the open door, so blissfully unaware of his wild confusion.

He dropped his arm to his side, letting the torch light puddle near his feet. _You saw nothing, Alan. Nothing at all. _

With some difficulty, Brodie cleared his throat. "Could I trouble you for a glass of water, Miss?" he asked politely.

Murron nodded, shifting her shapely legs so that the shadows danced in the street. "Of course, Sergeant dear. Come in."

He followed her inside the apothecary, aware that he was leaving his beat and, in essence, Tonks. But he needed to calm his nerves, to put things right in his mind in the comforting light of the shop, away from the dark, sinister streets.

And certainly, he would hear Tonks if she shouted for him. He had the radio after all.

Brodie had not actually been inside the apothecary during his time on the island and now he found himself charmed by the casual disarray of it all. As to why Willoway didn't have a proper doctor he couldn't guess, but judging from the state of his hand, Murron was as good of a nurse as any.

Passing between two large baskets of cut daisies, he marveled at all the tiny jars cluttered about the uneven shelves. Their labels were written in a curling hand and he couldn't make out half of the names, although he assumed they would be foreign to him.

"Impressed?" Murron asked him. She was behind the counter, pouring water into a glass from a small tea kettle.

"You're certainly behind the times," Brodie told her, his voice repressed by an awed whisper. He was trying his best to make small-talk, distract himself from what he had seen…

_Or what I thought I saw…._

"And is that such a bad thing?" She handed him the glass and watched him take a sip.

He considered her for a moment as he drained the cup. "I suppose not. After all, you did a fine job mending my hand."

"You're welcome." Murron twirled a bit of her hair around her finger, her teeth dragging over her plump, lower lip. "Now tell me, what's got you all flustered?"

Brodie was keenly aware of her eyes upon him. Her eyes were undeniably sultry, smoldering with the promise of something a decent man such as himself should ignore. And ignore it he would.

"Thank you," he said, handing her back the now empty glass. "And I wasn't flustered at all. A bird startled me…some chickens clucking on the green."

"Aye." Murron looked at him slyly. She turned around to put the glass back on a shelf, lending him a view of her rounded rump. "But you're all red, Sergeant dear. You look like a baked lobster!"

Brodie smiled politely at her. "Sun burn, I expect."

"Hmm." And suddenly, Murron was leaning over the counter, loosening the top button of his collar.

Brodie stumbled backwards in shock, only to have her laugh at him.

"Oh, you're so silly!" she trilled. "You're buttoned up all tight. Can't you breathe better now?"

"Well." He didn't know quite what to say. Instead, he adjusted his collar, loathe to admit that his uniform was indeed stifling. But he had greater things to worry about, like whether or not he dared to tell Tonks what he had seen.

How could he possibly expect her to believe him? In all honesty, he didn't even believe his own eyes.

_I saw a fox turn into a man, Constable, how do you fancy that? We ought to ring up the mainland constabulary and tell them we have a case of transforming wildlife here._

Willoway was starting to get under his skin. There was a distinct _supernatural_ air about the place and he remembered encountering the brewing cauldron the night before, along with the schoolgirls who had been tossing about a rather strange looking stone.

But what would Tonks think of all this? Perhaps, this was yet another secret he would have to keep from her, although he hated doing so, convinced that he was violating her trust in his honesty.

Feeling conflicted and more than a little daunted, Brodie adjusted his cap, adopting the tone of a policeman once more. "I ought to be going, Miss," he told Murron firmly. "Sorry to have disturbed you so late at night."

"Oh it's no trouble at all." She was leaning across the counter, quite clearly showing off her assets in her low-necked dress. "But are you sure you won't sit a minute? Just to catch your breath, eh?"

Brodie shook his head. "No, thank you. I hope you have a pleasant evening."

He was halfway to the door when he felt her hand drop on his shoulder.

"Sergeant." Her fingers deftly traveled from his shoulder to his lower back. For a moment, Brodie froze, only to be shocked back into life when she squeezed his bum.

"That's quite enough, Miss!" he sputtered, turning around so fast as to dislodge a bowl of curious looking yellow seeds on a nearby shelf. They scattered all over the floorboards.

Murron, however, paid them no mind.

"You cannot be _that_ shy, my pretty Sergeant," she said, tugging on his earlobe. With her free hand, she caressed the back of his tense neck.

An uncomfortable wave of heat stole over Brodie. His nostrils dilated and he caught the sweet, mossy scent that seemed to linger about her.

She regarded him from beneath heavily hooded eyes, a playful smile encroaching upon her full lips.

"Won't you stay a while longer with me?"

Brodie realized then that she was a skilled seductress. She had laid the groundwork for her trap by treating his hand in Kentigern Rook's kitchen, by telling him how brave he was and how very sharp he looked in his uniform. And even tonight, she had drawn him into her domain when he was at his weakest with promises of safety and comfort.

Lust inspired her every languid movement and he was rightly disgusted with her. None too gently, he took hold of her hands and threw them off his neck.

"Really, Miss," he hissed angrily. "Where is your sense of propriety?"

Murron's smile widened and she seemed ready to provide him with a suitable explanation of her own when a shout echoed into the shop from the street.

"Stop, dammit! And don't you move a muscle. Stop! I said stop!"

"Tonks!" Brodie murmured, hurrying out of the apothecary with Murron on his heels.

**

* * *

**

Author's Note:

At last, this story is getting a bit scary and, I do promise, there is more to come!

The next chapter is in the works and should be posted soon. I hope you have a lovely weekend!

_*These lines were taken from the chorus of the traditional English folk song, "Gently Johnny", also featured on the soundtrack of the original _Wicker Man_ film. _


	10. Chapter Nine Portrait in Red

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Rowling's work.

**Chapter Nine Portrait in Red**

It was one of those deceptive nights. Twilight came and went, leaving the town tucked into a comfortable darkness. There was still some measure of noise and revelry out on the green, which convinced Tonks that the inhabitants of Willoway did intend to make some sort of celebration out of May Day. And as she set off on her patrol, she found herself caught up in the simplicity of it all, the perfect quaintness. It was indeed a charming little reverie…a deep and sleepy enchantment which left one beguiled and gullible and (not that she would have admitted it) helpless.

With Brodie out of the way and on the other side of the village, Tonks was free to draw her wand. She felt a little more comfortable shrugging off her Muggle copper disguise, assuming instead the practical authority of an Auror, well, an Auror-in-training at least. Despite her misgivings as to the direction of her investigation, she gave the utmost attention to patrolling the back streets of Willoway's seaside village. In her heart of hearts, Tonks knew it would take nothing less than a miracle to uncover something now…or catch someone in the act of mischief. But the evening was benevolent. Hopeful.

She felt herself shaking off the malaise that had plagued her in the _Honeybee_ in exchange for brisk efficiency. Maybe, just maybe, she'd get lucky.

After striding along for some time, she left the business district of the small town and came to a row of residential cottages. Each had a neat, walled-in garden and a pretty wooden gate which led out into the winding alley. Tonks took her time strolling down the lane. She noticed that the all the upper storey windows of the houses had been thrown open. Music and laughter drifted out over the gardens. Inside, she imagined families were settling down to some nighttime entertainment. Maybe a game of wizard's chess or some other, friendly diversion.

If only she could….

Tonks stopped cold in her tracks, her eyes tilted downward. By the toe of her right shoe was a trail of blood.

The scent of it came upon her so quickly, so vengefully, that she thought she would vomit.

_This is evil_, she realized then and there. _It's not some dark, fanged thing hiding in a forest or an old dungeon, but here, now, in a sleepy little town._

With some difficulty, she bent over to inspect the splash of crimson, muttering _lumos_ in order to set her wand tip alight. It did not occur to her to use the torch Brodie had insisted she carry.

The puddle was about the size of her hand…and fresh. Tonks straightened and looked about wildly. Whatever or whoever had spilled it had to be nearby, somewhere….

And then she caught sight of it. Directly over her shoulder. One of the garden gates had been left ajar and inside, amongst the budding rows of wild flowers, was a cloaked figure. The stranger had a brush of willow leaves in hand and was painting the back cottage wall with great streaks of red.

Tonks felt the bile rise up in her throat.

_Evil_.

Perhaps she should have tried to stun the figure first. Yes, that would have been wisest. But primal instinct took over. Tonks wanted to stop the abomination and as her lips parted, she found she could not withhold the scream growing within her.

"Stop! Oh God, oh God, stop!"

The figure turned, its features conveniently obscured by the heavy hood of the cloak. For an instant, Tonks envisioned some pale, ghastly face within…something out of a fairy tale or childish nightmare.

The figure dropped the willow-leaf brush, emitting a growl which mingled with a repressed sigh. It was amused, or disappointed, perhaps, to have been interrupted by the likes of her.

Tonks raised her wand immediately, lunging forward. _"Perfectus Totalus!" _But she slipped on the stream of blood and fell against the cobblestones, landing hard. The unused torch fell from her hand. A gasp shot past her teeth and in an instant, she was rolling onto her feet, trying to regain her balance.

But the cloaked figure was already on top of her.

"_Expelliarmus!"_ it shrieked in a high, keening voice.

Tonks felt her wand tugged from her grasp, smelled the blood, so close, so close…

She recoiled, thrusting out one arm to knock the figure backwards. Only then did she realize that her attacker had no wand…

On her feet once more, Tonks spotted her own wand some feet away. She dove for it, but was interceded by a stunning spell.

The hex caught the left side of her stomach, a glancing blow, but enough to knock the wind out of her. She fell once more, this time inches from her wand. Instinctively, she stretched out her arm and groped for the handle.

The cloaked figure was rising over her, a fine-boned hand outstretched, reaching for her throat.

Tonks raised her wand.

"Stop, dammit! And don't you move a muscle. Stop! I said stop!"

Her attacker's fingertips were slippery with blood and Tonks gagged as the sticky liquid dripped down onto her nose. Lowering her wand, she directed it instead at the figure's torso.

"_Impedimenta!" _she cried.

Tonks had meant the spell to push her attacker back, but instead, the figure fell forward with a muffled shriek, landing on top of her abdomen. She groaned in pain, but managed to throw her body weight to the side, giving her the precious leverage she needed to rise up on her knees.

Pinning the figure to the ground, Tonks drove the tip of her wand into the folds of the cloak.

"Let me see your face!" she panted. "Lemme see your face!"

Somewhere behind her, she heard a garbled shout. "Constable! Constable! Where are you?"

But Tonks was too harried to take notice. She had her attacker now and beneath that well-placed hood undoubtedly hid all the mysteries of Willoway. All she had to was draw it back, pull it back to reveal the truth…

Ah, the truth…

"Tonks! Tonks!" Brodie's voice trumpeted through the alley and for a moment, just a brief, insignificant moment, Tonks lifted her head to see just where he was.

And in that space of time, the figure beneath her grabbed the collar of her jacket, throwing her off. Fabric ripped with a snarl. Buttons clattered to the cobblestones.

"_Levicorpus!_" she cried. But her spell had been cast aimlessly. She was already rolling on the ground, nearly avoiding the jet of white light herself.

The figure bounded to its feet and with a loud crack, disappeared.

Tonks groaned. "Fuck!"

"Constable! Constable! Are you all right?" Brodie raced into the alley and was by her side in an instant. "What the hell happened?" His hands fell on her shoulders and gently, he lifted her into a sitting position.

"My back," Tonks moaned as a twinge of pain danced along her spine. With shaking fingers, she discreetly tucked her wand back into her pocket.

Brodie was busy looking around for the torch she had dropped. "My God, there's blood here. Are you hurt?"

"No." Tonks reached around to rub her neck. Her head was swimming and as she turned to gaze at Brodie, she saw a flash of tawny fur streak by.

The fox…

Shaking, she rose up on her scraped knees and glanced about wildly.

The fox…the fox…

She had seen the fox, but where had it gone?

Tonks blinked and gazed up at Brodie. His face was pinched with concern.

"We gotta search the area," she said breathlessly. "Now."

"It would help if you tell me what happened," he replied.

A window opened, somewhere overhead…

Tonks let Brodie help her up. As she turned, she saw a old woman sticking her head out of an upper storey casement. Her grey hair was in curlers.

"I was attacked," Tonks said numbly.

"By who?" Brodie grasped her upper arm and the heat from his hand seeped through her jacket sleeve. "Tonks, look at me." He shook her lightly.

"I…I don't know, Alan." Her voice trembled. She felt as though she were in a fog and when she tried to move, her limbs were sluggish, churning through invisible quicksand.

Perhaps one of those wandless spells _had _hit her after all.

Another cottage window opened. A pair of teenaged boys wandered by the mouth of the alley. Tonks realized, all of sudden, that they were being watched. Surrounded.

She swallowed hard. "I was just walking. Just walking along. And then there was the blood."

Brodie let go of her arm and banged her torch against the palm of his hand. It flickered feebly and then lit. He directed the beam to the pool of blood.

"No, not there." Tonks reached out, grabbing his wrist and turning the light along towards the back of the cottage where the figure had been painting the walls.

"Ugh," Brodie emitted a sickened sound.

And there it was. A primitive portrait in red. Hesitantly, Tonks moved into the cottage garden to get a better look. Brodie was on her heels.

"I was just walking," she said faintly. "Just walking by…and I saw someone…splashing blood all over the place." Off to the side was the willow leaf brush. Tonks stooped to pick it up, her bones cracking in protest. "I'm sorry, Alan. They caught me completely off guard. I'm sorry, I just-" Her throat tightened and for some reason, she found she could not look at the Sergeant.

Brodie didn't pressure her. Instead, he let the torchlight drift over the cottage wall. A large, crimson circle took shape, broken by violent streaks, long lines that criss-crossed the painting with frightening wildness.

"It almost looks like a Celtic spiral," Brodie commented. "But aren't they supposed to be unbroken? Eternal?"

"Exactly, Sergeant."

The voice startled them both.

Murron had strolled up the alley and was now standing at the garden gate. She stared at the painting with coy curiosity.

"Well, well," she drawled, "isn't that a sight."

Behind her, a knot of villagers had gathered. They were all smiling.

* * *

Tonks threw herself in front of the fireplace, her hands clenched into tiny fists.

"Come on, Kingsley! Come on." The words snuck past her teeth in a growl. Frowning, she stuck her fingers into the pot of Floo powder on the floor next to the hearth and tossed another handful into the flames.

The blaze hissed and spat cinders all over her uniform skirt.

"Ugh!" Tonks fell back on her bottom, trying her best to dust the ash off her legs.

The silence of the tavern below her room contrasted poorly with the generally revelry still taking place out on the town green. She felt like plugging her ears and casting several good _muffliato _charms just to stop the din. Somewhere between her temple and left eye, an ache bloomed and grew, causing her to squint into the hot flames.

"Kingsley, Kingsley, where are you?" Tonks didn't realize she was sobbing until she felt the tears on her cheeks. "Bugger it all."

She drew her knees up protectively against her chest, still revolted by the smell of blood even as it dried in patches on her sleeves.

This was a mess. A _bloody_ well mess.

Her encounter with the cloaked figure in the alleyway had shaken her badly. And the subsequent arrival of half the village, all of whom had wandered over to the scene to gawk at the grotesque graffiti, had chilled her to the very bone.

Judging from their intrigued whispers and lively expressions, Tonks would have thought they were pleased to see the ugly painting. _Pleased_.

With some difficulty, Brodie and her had documented the scene and high-tailed it back to the _Honeybee_. Tonks knew it would do them little good to look for her attacker. The person had Apparated and could be anywhere on the island by now. And in truth, she didn't much feel like being outside after dark, what with the wild, wild festivities taking place in the streets below.

She needed help, that much was plain. Kingsley would have to send over a _real _Auror to aid in the investigation.

But so far, he wasn't answering her owls or Floo messages.

Tonks sniffed and reached for the box of tissues on her bedside table. So much for passing her final exam. Here she was, huddled on the floor and blubbering like a baby. Thank goodness Brodie wasn't here. She'd promised to meet him in his room shortly, as soon she found some clean clothes and got her head together.

If she could get her head together….

Tonks blew her nose and was just about to try Kingsley again through the Floo network when someone knocked on her door.

Brodie!

She scrambled to her feet, pointing her wand at the fire. _"Augamenti_," she whispered. A stream of water dosed the flames, sending smoke spiraling up through the chimney.

Tonks coughed. "Come in."

The door opened and shut with a quiet click. Murron leaned her back up against it, looking exceptionally pleased. She had a ceramic mug in her hand.

"Oh, such excitement!" she cooed. "I don't think I'll sleep at all tonight. Lessie simply refuses to be put to bed…not that I can blame her."

"What are you doing here?" Tonks knew she was being rude, but she had absolutely no inclination to entertain Murron at the moment. The woman got on her nerves, especially when she acted so coquettish all the time. It was sickening really.

Tonks felt her stomach turn over just looking at Murron's puckered lips and clingy, cotton frock.

"Sorry," she said, setting the mug down on the bedside table. "I really didn't want to disturb you, Junior Auror Tonks, but it's just…well, you looked a fright back in that alleyway. I can't imagine how horrifying it must have been, being attacked like that. Anyway, I thought you might like a little something to calm you down." She gestured at the mug. "It's just some mint tea and herbs. Really helpful. I always drink a little myself whenever I'm in a mood."

"Thanks," Tonks managed coldly.

She watched as Murron put her hands on her round hips and paced about the room.

"It's a good thing that Sergeant Brodie arrived when he did, isn't it?" she simpered.

Tonks found herself shadowing the woman's progress, keeping a close eye on her when she reached the fireplace, kicking at the wet ash with her open-toed sandal.

"I can take care of myself," she replied.

"Hmm, I don't doubt it." Murron smiled graciously. "But it must be nice, having such a strong man around. You like him, don't you?"

Tonks's shoulders tensed. She moved between Murron and the fireplace, driving her back towards the door. "He's my partner. I just met him the other day. I have absolutely no idea what the _hell_ you're talking about."

Murron pushed her fingertips against her lips. "Nothing. I was just wondering, that's all. He's so handsome. Very manly. There's no shame in admitting that you fancy him. I certainly do."

"This is crazy!" Tonks could not suppress her outburst. Her temper had been tested and prodded and pushed to the limits since arriving on Willoway and now, she finally couldn't control it.

"I don't know what you're on about, what you're trying to do," she ground out, her hair suddenly flashing orange, "but you can't get under my skin, Murron. And I hope you don't think I can be made of a fool of forever."

Her unmasked rage caused Murron to change her garish smile for an effective scowl.

"I see," the temptress replied and her voice was the merest echo of a whisper.

Tonks had to strain to hear her. And in that moment, as she listened to her own heartbeat compete with Murron's breathy tones, she felt just awful.

Just wretchedly, disgustingly awful.

_I sound like a paranoid madwoman_, she thought, her tight fists loosening slightly, finger joints cracking. _Bloody hell, why am I so stupid?_

"Can you leave now?" she asked, realizing that she was in no way adept at putting someone out of her room. A real Auror would have sent the intruder packing with one well-placed hex.

Murron, for her part, seemed unsure of Tonks's motives. She half-turned and reached for the knob. "You really ought to take that calming draught, you know," she said.

Tonks nodded wearily. "Yeah. Whatever."

The door clicked closed behind Murron. Weak-kneed, Tonks sank onto her bed. Old Moody wouldn't certainly be ashamed if he could see her now. Like an idiot, she had spilled her guts to the one person she trusted the least.

And now, all of Willoway was likely to know she suspected them of wrongdoing.

Sighing, she reached for the ceramic mug and held it firmly between her two hands. The liquid within was a harmless amber color. The soft scent of mint drifted past her nostrils.

Tonks set her face. _Nice try, Murron_.

Turning, she poured out the draught into a nearby potted plant.

* * *

Brodie was pacing the length of his room when Tonks came in, his jacket off and the topmost buttons of his collar undone. He looked up when she shut the door and his expression narrowed with concern.

"Are you sure you're all right?" he asked, one hand reaching out to her.

Tonks thought he was going to touch her and she jerked away, remembering the stupid, stupid things Murron had said. "I'm just fine," she assured him, holding out her arms so that he could see her new, clean shirt. "Lucky I packed a spare. The…the blood was all over the place."

Brodie hooked his hands into his pockets. "I'll admit, I was wrong. This is so much more than a simple case of petty vandalism. It's…it's disgusting."

And then he did touch her, chastely, on the shoulder. "Tonks, I need to tell you something, but I'm afraid you'll think I'm mad."

Her throat began to burn, her vocal cords twisting until she could only croak out, "Okay."

Brodie looked at a loss. He dropped his hands back to his sides and shook his head slightly. Clearly, he was going against his better judgment by confiding in her. Tonks didn't know if she should feel flattered. He obviously trusted her enough reveal some troubling secret, but perhaps he also thought she wouldn't be able to handle his confession. After all, she had been a little hard put to subdue her attacker back in the alleyway.

As time dragged on, Tonks felt she was less and less equipped to be an Auror. It was a painful truth and at the moment, she wanted to burst into tears, to surrender her composure as she had in the solace of her room and heave off the tremendous burden of responsibility that had be given to her.

That, however, would certainly never do, especially when Brodie appeared so vulnerable.

Instead, Tonks twisted her fingers nervously together, bouncing a little on the balls of her feet. "Just tell me, all right? The suspense is liable to drive _me_ mad."

Again, Brodie hesitated. "I can't be sure of what I saw," he said slowly. "After all, it was around twilight and the beam from my torch could've been playing tricks on my eyes."

Tonks felt her knees weaken. This wasn't good. "Alan, what did you see?"

"I saw a figure…the figure of a man outside of Murron's shop tonight and then, before I had time to blink my eyes, the person transformed, _changed_, into a fox."

Her legs gave way and she plopped down on a chair by the window, crushing Brodie's hat in the process.

The Sergeant stared at her for a moment in silence, awaiting her verdict.

Trembling, Tonks reached underneath her bottom and pulled out his cap, dusting it off with unsteady fingers. "What if I told you I had seen the same thing?"

She was heading into dangerous waters here, _very_ dangerous waters. In fact, the sharks were fair circling her now, their jaws open, jagged teeth gleaming. If she pressed further, any further, she'd be eaten alive…

It went against almost every Auror guideline to expose a Muggle to magic. And here she was, helping him make the connections when she should have been casting a memory charm.

But in all honesty, what good would a memory charm do now? She needed Brodie, _needed_ his help if she was ever going to make some sense of the terrible trouble on Willoway. He was all she had, the only person she could rely on when surrounded by increasingly suspicious strangers. If she altered his memory, then they'd both be back to square one.

Tonks glanced down at his cap. Her fingers were twisted around the brim, her knuckles an ugly shade of ivory.

Brodie hovered over her, silent, understanding, compassionate even.

She took a deep breath before continuing. "You're not mad, Alan. I've seen this fox/man creature too and I'm starting to wonder if he isn't the villain. I mean, think about it, slaughtered livestock, a figure that can move through the shadows and not be seen. No wonder the islanders are so reticent. They don't know what to make of it either."

"It seems like something out of a fairy tale," Brodie admitted at length.

Tonks was gratified to notice that he too had gone pale.

"How can we make sense of this?" he asked.

_Easily_, she thought. _The fox is an unregistered Animagi. _But how to explain all that to him?

"I don't know," she replied. "But we can't think of this phenomenon in terms of logic. Let's look at it like any normal coppers would. We have a baddie on the loose and we've narrowed down our lists of suspects."

"And the motive?" he prompted her.

She shook her head. "No idea. Whatever it is, it involves the whole of Willoway, or so it would seem."

"Agreed." Brodie ran his hand over his short, sandy hair and sank wearily onto the arm of the chair next to her. "Well, it seems as though we've made some progress at the very least. Either that, or we're both certifiable."

It was a horrid attempt at humor and instead of laughing, Tonks found herself sniffling.

"I'm useless," she muttered, trying in vain to disguise her emotion.

Brodie gaped at her. "What's the matter, Tonks?"

"It's just…" She clutched his cap, her mind spinning. It wasn't fair, it really wasn't. She had wanted to be an Auror so very badly. "I don't know what I'm doing…I feel so stupid."

And then she really was crying. Small, stifled sobs rose up in her throat and she swallowed them down in great gulps.

Brodie looked against. "Tonks, Tonks, how can you say that? It certainly isn't true. Don't you think I'd be the very first to spot you as incompetent? You're awfully critical of yourself. Please don't be upset."

Once more, he threw his arm around her shoulder in an awkward hug and Tonks stiffened as she felt the weight of his hand through her blouse.

_God_, she thought desperately, her tears dissolving in the wake of her shock, _if only Murron hadn't been right!  
_

* * *

**Author's Note: **Ah, I was hoping to have this chapter posted for May Day…no such luck. As always, I must thank all my wonderful readers and reviewers. You guys rock! *hugs* The next chapter is in the works and should be posted soon. I hope you have a lovely spring!


	11. Chapter Ten The Greenhouses

**Disclaimer:** I claim no ownership of Rowling's work.

**Chapter Ten The Greenhouses **

Tonks couldn't sleep at all that night. At about two o'clock in the morning, she surrendered to her insomnia and got out of bed. Her mum used to say that there was no point in beating a dead horse (or something like that) and Tonks was sure her brain was as useless as a dead horse. Exhaustion kept her from thinking straight, but she was too wound up to simply close her eyes and let her body relax.

The case was becoming too complicated-and too dangerous-for her to work alone. She needed Brodie's help and yet, every time she stopped to consult with him or compare notes, she became aware that he was delving deeper into her world. And if she kept putting ideas of magic into his mind, letting them fester and formulate, she would have one hell of a time erasing his memories in the end.

If they ever reached the end….

Sometime just before dawn, Tonks decided that she had had enough of sitting cooped up in her room. She couldn't help but remember something odd Murron had said the night before, something about unbroken, never-ending circles. The blood splashed so deliberately on the cottage wall taunted her sensibilities. This was a riddle she could solve, a riddle she _had_ to solve and Murron possessed the key.

In the uncertain light of the rising sun, Tonks dressed quickly and quietly. She left off her police woman's jacket and cap and wore only a buttoned down shirt over a pair of slacks she had kept stuffed away in her traveling bag.

Brodie was still asleep, or so she guessed, and he wouldn't notice if she slipped on her the brown, leather overcoat all Aurors on duty wore. With any luck, the residents of Willoway would recognize her authority as a Ministry official and give her the answers she so desperately needed.

Tip-toeing past Brodie's room, Tonks managed to only trip once on the rumpled hall carpet before making it safely down the stairs. Outside on the town green, the world was quite silent. Flower garlands were draped atop the doorways of the shops, untouched by the absent breeze. The long ribbons of the May Pole hung like limp pigtails. Around the green, Tonks spotted the skeletal outlines of several wooden booths, set up, she assumed, for the following day's May Day festivities.

Tonks had no desire to partake in the holiday and she hoped to be off the island by then. To see the residents of Willoway capering gaily about while in the midst of an increasingly violent crime spree made her feel more than a little unsettled.

The apothecary was likewise decorated for the celebration and when Tonks entered, she found Murron arranging a jar of daisies on the counter.

"Good morning, Auror Tonks," she trilled, her eyes stopping on the brown overcoat and widening slightly. "Did Sergeant Brodie see you in that get-up?"

"Sergeant Brodie isn't with me," Tonks replied curtly. She met Murron's gaze and held it as she removed her wand from her pocket. "It's enough now, Murron. I want to know what's going on."

Murron's nimble fingers ghosted over the flowers. She hummed quietly to herself. "Well, if you insist."

"I do." Tonks held her wand tightly, feeling the strain in her knuckles. She fought the urge to curse this woman into the next world, but managed to bite back her eager rage. "You can start by explaining last night. What did you mean about the unbroken circle? What does it have to do with the markings I found on the cottage wall?"

"What?" Murron dropped her hands back to the counter, her palms slapping the wooden surface lightly. "I don't know a thing about that-I was only talking nonsense last night. Didn't mean anything by it."

"You _did_ mean something by it." Tonks's jaw threatened to lock as she spoke, the muscles in her neck growing taut. "I want you to tell me everything, Murron. If you're honest with me, I'll try my best to defer charges. This isn't a game anymore."

"I never said it was." Murron turned from her and faced the mirror she kept behind the counter. With those same nimble fingers, she brushed her hair straight and began to braid it.

Reflected back to her in the mirror, Tonks could see Murron's perfectly coy smile. Amused. Yes, she was amused by all this.

And here Tonks stood, sweating and panicked and fearing that her career as an Auror would be over before it started. Her resolve, which had grown more and more fragile with every hour she spent on Willoway, began to bend and break.

"The wandless magic," she said and was amazed when her words came out as a growl. "Can you explain that?"

Murron did not reply at once, but clicked her tongue as the end of her plait came undone. Clearly, Tonks's noisiness was bothering her. The mere notion of driving the seemingly ever-confident Murron to distraction gave her her second wind.

This time, she smiled determinedly.

"Why use wandless magic? It's antiquated, surely. No more than dusty history back on the mainland."

This seemed to get a suitable rise out of Murron.

"It takes a powerful witch or wizard to perform magic without the aid of wand," she said, tying a yellow ribbon at the bottom of her neat braid. "And by the way, Mary MacFarlene told me how you were snooping around the school, complaining about what we're teaching our children."

Tonks spread her fingers out on top of the counter, her wand still pressed into her palm. "It's my job to snoop. Remember, you people invited officials of the law onto your island…for our help."

"Aye, but we only wanted the Muggle to come." She said this softly, under her breath, so that Tonks could only catch the end of it.

Still, her hair nearly stood on end.

Murron was busy preening in the mirror now and Tonks felts her new fear fuel her sense of urgency.

"One last time," she said, "I'll ask you one last time. What is happening on this island? What are you and the rest of Willoway keeping from me?"

And then Murron did something dangerous. She laughed. She laughed as she threw her braided hair over her shoulder and swiveled her hips and showed just how much contempt she had for Tonks and Brodie and their entire investigation.

At once, Tonks felt her resolve shatter and as it did, she pointed her wand at Murron's jar of daisies.

"_Expulso!_"

Shards of earthenware shot across the store. Murron gasped and, to Tonks's great satisfaction, ducked, throwing her arms over her head. Daisy petals rained down like large snowflakes.

When the noise and chaos had settled into a dark silence, Murron looked up and scowled at her.

"Are you mad?" she cried, her voice cracking.

And Tonks couldn't help herself. She smiled.

"Get out of my shop!" Murron waved her arms, trying to shoo Tonks as if she were an unwelcome street cat. "Get out! I don't have anything to say to you."

Tonks squared her shoulders, feeling the comfortable weight of her Auror coat settle about her like a protective shield. "And I promise you, Murron, you'll be arrested as soon as I have the time to write up the charges. Obstructing a magical law enforcement official should be fine to start with, but I think I can find a few more to tack on…just for the fun of it, yeah?"

She turned to leave, her shoes crunching on broken pottery and destroyed daisies. But by the time she had reached the door, Murron had regained her composure, and she began to hum sweetly with all the pleasant delusion of a madwoman.

"You better mind that Sergeant Brodie," she called.

Tonks fought the urge to turn around.

"You better mind him," she repeated. "If I were you, I wouldn't let him out of my sight!"

And before she had the time to digest Murron's words, to decide if they were threats or not, the door of the shop slammed shut behind her.

* * *

Tonks knew that she was too riled to return to the _Honeybee_ and too shaken up to face Brodie after she left the apothecary. She realized at once that her investigation was still stalled, although it did give her a sense of grim satisfaction to know that she had scared Murron a fair bit. Kingsley probably wouldn't approve of her exploding the jar, though. He was one of those stoic, quiet men who rarely seemed troubled in even the most trying of circumstances. Picturing his still, serene face made Tonks ashamed of herself. She'd lost her temper and an Auror couldn't afford to be loose with her emotions.

In order to compose herself, she took a turn by the docks, passing the plane Brodie had flown into the harbor and several of the local fishermen's boats bobbing on the slight waves. If she was being honest with herself, Tonks could admit that she didn't feel completely at ease while wandering around Willoway anymore. Last night she had had quite a difficult time trying to drive off her attacker and she felt now, if she were in danger again and called for help, no one would come running.

She and Brodie had undoubtedly worn out their welcome on the island.

After walking the length of the docks, Tonks took a wide lane up around the village and into a neighboring field. She'd seen the road before, but had yet to explore it thoroughly. Now, she found she had to keep to the very center of the path lest she trip on the deep ruts that marred either side of the dirt road. This byway, she concluded, must see some heavy traffic.

Even the grass on the side of the road had been neatly trimmed and, in several places, Tonks could clearly make out dewy footprints that had lately trod across the carpet of green.

Then up in the distance, far enough that she had to squint her eyes, she caught sight of the sunlight glinting carelessly off a pane of glass. Crystal, clear glass. A metal framework kept the pane in place, which, she realized, wasn't actually part of a single window, but of many, many windows.

She blinked and then smiled to herself. How silly! Didn't she know a greenhouse when she saw one?

Tonks vaguely remembered her first experience with just such a greenhouse. She'd been five and her mother's sister, Narcissa, had suffered a pang of rare guilt and invited Andromeda and her niece to her home while her husband Lucius was out. Tonks had never seen her mother sadder than she'd been on that day, and as a child, she couldn't possibly be expected to understand the unfair intricacies of blood purity and family feuds.

Narcissa didn't want her sister and her niece in the house for some reason, and she took them out onto the grounds, into the gardens and the greenhouses. Tonks remembered standing on a gravel path in a glass house, watching the condensation fog up the large panes and sweating madly in her pretty blue jumper and skirt. And the roses, the roses had been so red. They reminded her of pain, not physical suffering, but something less material. Something that happened within a person and left scars nonetheless.

Seeing the greenhouse now, Tonks felt a ripple of quiet nostalgia. Wasn't it odd, though, for such a pretty greenhouse to be out in the middle of nowhere? But then she noticed, just behind the rise of a low hill, that there stood nearly two dozen identical greenhouses, set like unusual diamonds in the otherwise lush fields.

And she remembered that the island's economy was based largely upon an export business. Willoway's Ointments and Healing Salves. These greenhouses were used to grow their famous holistic herbs and flowers. Or she guessed.

Tonks was curious now. _Exceedingly_ curious. With a jolt, she realized that since she had set foot on the island, she had not seen a single jar of the much sought after product. Not a pot of lavender exfoliating cream. Not a single box of rosemary-scented soaps. And although she knew their business was thriving, there seemed to be little to no activity around the greenhouses today. In fact, there was no at all.

Tonks shifted her weight uneasily.

Something was wrong here.

She took the wide path leading off the main road into the fields. Like the highway, this lane was also marked with abundant signs of heavy traffic. Tracks from wagon wheels criss-crossed the dirt and Tonks spent so much time looking at her feet, watching to make sure that she didn't twist her ankle in a rut, that she didn't notice the piles of stones set about the door of the first greenhouse.

But then they were swimming under her lowered gaze like the glittering scales of a dragon. The rocks had been painted different colors, greens and blues and yellows and purples and were all exquisitely balanced in neat formations. Like cairns, Tonks thought. Or some type of folk art.

When she looked around, she noticed that every greenhouse was flanked by at least three sets of balanced stones and in-between the piles, yes, there they were, little figurines. Dolls made out of grass and willow leaves and straw. Dolls that all had red hair…no, tawny fur, sewn about their heads.

Fox fur.

Her stomach rolled over. The magic she was seeing was quite primitive, the type of stuff superstitious Muggles used to keep out "bad spirits" and such. But the other magic, the sort that wasn't visible but present, wafting on the air with an electricity that mingled freely with the heady scent of herbs and flowers, was undeniable.

She felt the spells at once. In Auror training, Moody had spent ages trying to teach her how to identify any given spell cast on an object or a place. He had a habit of casting twenty separate charms on a door or a shoe or something just as nonsensical and making her poke and prod until she had safely lifted anything remotely dangerous.

Her senses, finely attuned by her strict mentor, told her that there was nothing dangerous here now.

The spells cast around the greenhouses were weak, wards not meant to guard against humans, but animals. Wizards and witches often used such spells to keep unwanted critters out of their gardens and Tonks believed that the people of Willoway were attempting to do the same…on a much larger scale.

As she moved carefully beyond the first greenhouse, she was doubly surprised to encounter another spell.

It was hidden well and Tonks might have passed it over if she'd been in more of a hurry. But now that she'd felt it, there was no ignoring it.

The Homorphus Charm, commonly used to force an Animagi back into human form.

But why would the greenhouses need to be protected from an Animagi?

Suddenly, her mind became feverish with understanding.

The fox that had attacked Brodie and the figure who had attempted to disarm her were one and the same. An Animagi capable of changing its form and disappearing oh-so-innocently from a crime scene. An Animagi who could slaughter livestock as a fox and then use the blood to complete a ghastly, heathen ritual.

There was only one thing missing now, she realized. Motive.

And when Tonks stepped inside the one of the greenhouses, she understood. Expecting to find patches of herbs and flowers, all blooming now during the height of spring, when the weather was perfectly mild and welcoming, she found the soil bare. The crop had been blighted.

Someone had sabotaged the island's entire industry.


	12. Chapter Eleven Surrounded

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Rowling's work.

**Chapter Eleven Surrounded**

Some measure of heightened concern registered within Brodie when he found Tonks's room empty the next morning. He had been standing in the hall outside her door for some time, knocking first gently, then rigorously. The sound of his fist on wood echoed through the balmy morning air, reminding him of a quickened heartbeat. Indeed, it took all his courage, after a while, to peek his head inside the room and find the bed made and his partner gone.

This was not good. This was not good at all.

Considering the sharp increase of violence on the island in the past twenty-four hours, Brodie figured he had suitable cause to be worried.

Perhaps, he thought, Tonks was just downstairs having breakfast.

Or perhaps something had happened to her. And here he was now, alone, without aid…surrounded.

In his mind, he recalled an old movie that he had seen as a boy in the cinema. Something about a group of stalwart British soldiers outnumbered by a staggering army of hostile Zulus.

His confidence and sense of security slipped a notch as he moved out of the hallway.

Downstairs in the common room of the _Honeybee_ he found only Dermott, the innkeeper, rinsing out several whiskey glasses behind the bar.

"Have you see the Constable?" Brodie asked, trying his best to sound casual.

Dermott looked up for the briefest instant, then returned to his scrubbing and polishing. "Went out, maybe an hour ago."

"Did she say anything?"

"Nah."

"Then there's no message for me?"

This time, Dermott didn't look up as he shook his head. "Nah."

All right. All right. Brodie took a deep breath. "If she comes back, tell her I've gone out for a walk, will you?"

Dermott responded with a shrug. Brodie felt his ire rise, venomous and eager, but he kept it back. Now was not the time for hotheadedness, now was a time for…

Panic?

No! How foolish could he possibly be? Tonks had to be around here…somewhere.

Forgoing breakfast, Brodie left the inn and wandered somewhat aimlessly along the village green. Several of the island's artisans and craftsmen were hard at work setting up the fair grounds for the May Day celebration. A housewife carrying a heavy jug of milk brushed past him, spilling some of the frothing liquid on his shoes.

Brodie scowled. There was an amount of tension in the air. Dark tension. His policeman's intuition told him to be on his guard and watchful. Something was going to happen soon.

Something bad.

He tried to approach his situation logically. For now, the investigation would have to be put on the back burner until he could find Tonks. And how would he find her?

According to Dermott (if he had been telling the truth), Tonks had left the inn an hour ago. She would be on foot and he didn't think she would leave the village without sending him a message. That meant she couldn't have gotten far, and seeing as the village itself was only a rough cluster of buildings and short streets around the harbor, he should have no difficulty canvassing the area.

After some debate, Brodie decided he would trace the route they had taken yesterday and start at the school.

Unable to take the shortcut across the green due to the intense labors of the carpenters and craftsmen, he skirted the edge of it, watching the men all the while as they knocked nails into the sides of wooden booths and hung banners and rolled barrels over the grass. The noise they made was distracting, covering all the small, indistinct sounds he had come to equate with the village. If his ears had been keener, Brodie might have heard the happy and high tones of conversation coming from the schoolhouse. As it was, his notice was so crowded with the commotion of hammering that it wasn't until he had stepped inside the door that he heard Mary MacFarlene talking to Kentigern Rook.

They were in the single school room and Brodie's impatience almost prompted him to interrupt them. But he stopped, waited a moment, and focused on the cheery hum of their voices.

And some small part of him, some tiny, insignificant part, felt that he would catch them…catch them in their plot.

Too late did he realize how heavy his footsteps had been, for Mary and her guest immediately fell silent. Still, Brodie did not enter the school room, hoping they would continue their prattle, but then Rook stuck his head out the door and smiled.

"Ah, Sergeant, good morning, sir."

"Morning," Brodie replied curtly, stinging with defeat.

"Come in, come in." Rook beckoned him into the classroom, looking every bit the dapper gentleman in a neat blue shirt and pressed black pants.

Brodie suddenly minded the small creases that crept across the back of his serge jacket.

Mary MacFarlene, seemingly ever conscious of her position as the island's only teacher was standing close by her neat desk, one fluttery hand resting atop the lip of it.

Brodie nodded stiffly at her. "Sorry to disturb you miss."

"Not at all," Rook answered for her. "As you must have sensed outside on the green, this is not a day for serious conversation. We have all the trappings of a fine festival, don't we, Sergeant? You're rather lucky, you know, to be on Willoway for May Day. It's quite a good time we have."

At once, Brodie's defenses jumped to the fore. He tried to remain calm, jovial even, but his mind was troubled and now provoked to annoyance by Rook's display of cheery manners.

"Who says we'll be staying that long?" he asked, causing the man's grey brows to jump together.

"Sorry, I-"

"There's nothing to be done on this island," he said, pulling a cool bluff. "We don't have enough evidence of vandalism, or enough support from the locals to even carry on a proper investigation. I'll return to the mainland and file a report with the constabulary. Make proper note of my visit and such. Perhaps next time you seek the help of the police, your people will be more inclined to cooperate."

Brodie was being obnoxious and he knew it. He half-expected Rook to take umbrage and rage at him, to threaten him and swear to have his career.

But the man smiled, yes, simply smiled.

Mary laughed.

"If that's what you think is best, Sergeant," he said evenly. "You _are_ the police officer, after all. I do trust your judgment."

Again, Mary laughed.

Rook moved in front of Brodie, his knees against one of the small desks, his hands folded neatly at the waist. "But you'll forgive me for pointing out the obvious…"

"Sir," Brodie nearly growled.

"You seem to be missing your partner."

The tiny hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Cornered. Trapped. The Zulus were raging outside the fort…

Brodie took off his cap, wiped his already dry forehead with the cuff of his sleeve and looked Rook directly in the eyes. "What makes you think that I am not perfectly aware of Constable Tonks's whereabouts?"

At last, Mary spoke up. "Because I saw her this morning heading out of the village. She went up the road and never looked back. Never even looked back."

And again, yes, again she laughed.

Real dread began to build within Brodie. He set his jaw, wondering if it was possible for him to leave the room without looking worried, or, at the very least, terribly harried.

But once more, Rook was quick to swoop in with a suitable response.

"She's perfectly fine, of course," he said. "I caught sight of her just a mile from the village as I was coming in today and exchanged a few words with her. She said she had just gone for a morning stroll and intended on turning back right away She might even be looking for _you_ now. Perhaps you should have waited for her."

"Perhaps." Despite his best efforts, Brodie could no longer disguise the distinct curl of his lip. "I suppose I had best be getting back then."

"You'd best."

He was almost out the door when Rook stopped him. Casually, ever so casually, he arrested Brodie's progress by laying a large, strong hand on his shoulder.

"Goodness I've nearly forgotten," he said, effecting absentmindedness. "How is that bite of yours?"

"The bite?" Brodie was genuinely nonplussed.

"The fox bite you received yesterday on the way to my house. Does it still smart?"

Dear God, he had forgotten all about it! Had clean forgotten about the nasty little beast that had taken a chunk of flesh out of his hand. Brodie started at the remembrance of it, then glanced down at his bandaged hand. Surprisingly he felt nothing. Not a throb. Not a twinge. Not the slightest discomfort.

He quickly removed the bandage, unraveling the gauze to reveal a hand that was marred only by a smooth scar…and nothing more.

"It's healed," he muttered, choking on the words. "It's healed, but how…"

"Hmm." Rook tapped a long finger against his chin. "It looks like magic to me."

"What are you-"

"Magic." Rook's eyes lit up at once. "And if I were you, Sergeant Brodie, I would surely ask _Constable _Tonks all about it."

* * *

Although he did not want to appear overly anxious, Brodie hoofed it back to the _Honeybee_, praying, all the while, that he would find Tonks sitting in the tavern or back up in her room or anywhere nearby, anywhere at all…because he had a horrid feeling that Rook was lying to him.

His hope was met with disappointment when he found Dermott in the same place he had left him a quarter of an hour ago, lining up his clean glasses on the shelf behind the bar.

Wetting his lips, Brodie did not even bother to steady his voice before he posed the burning question.

"Has Constable Tonks come back yet?" he asked at once.

"Yes, but she she's not here now."

Relief. Brodie dropped down onto one of the barstools, his head in his hands. It didn't occur to him right away that Dermott might be lying as well, and yet, when he had gathered his thoughts again, he managed to find some suspicion for the man.

"Where has she gone?" he asked next.

Dermott seemed particularly intent on the arrangement of his glasses and he stood somewhat apart from the shelf, his back to Brodie, his left arm around his waist.

"I don't know where the Constable went. She didn't say a thing about it. But she _did_ leave a message for you. And me being a polite and proper man, I didn't see fit to read it."

"I'll have it now," Brodie demanded.

Lazily, his long arms now swinging free, Dermott stooped behind the bar and fetched a folded piece of parchment.

"Will you be wanting anything else?" he asked, his smooth temperament broken by what seemed to be a good deal of annoyance.

Brodie waved him away, feeling irked and went out into the sunlight to read the note, cursing himself all the while for not having reminded Tonks to take her radio everywhere with her. They might have avoided all this chaos, though now that he thought about it, he wondered why a trained police officer wouldn't know to carry her radio at all times.

Strange. And yet, everything was strange.

He paused and glanced at his hand, running his thumb over the smooth scar.

For once, he might take Rook's advice and ask Tonks all about it.

Turning his attention back to the note, he tried to ignore the unsettled feeling in his gut that filled him with discomfort. He read the first line slowly, not for its content, but to make sure that Tonks's handwriting was indeed her own and not forged. When he was satisfied of its legitimacy, he read the whole over again in avid curiosity.

_Dear Sgt. Brodie;_

_Have had a productive morning. Found out some things that may be of interest to us. Will talk more later, in private. Have some more checking around to do. Will be back at the _Honeybee_ as soon as possible. Sorry for leaving you alone like this. Good luck._

_Tonks_

Brodie folded the note and carefully put it in his breast pocket. He wasn't entirely satisfied by his partner's vague communication, but it would have to do for the time being. So long as Tonks was well, he thought. He certainly could manage by himself for the rest of the day.

After all, he had some checking around to do himself. Magic, indeed.

Poking his head back into the tavern, he called to a now sweeping Dermott, "If Constable Tonks comes back, tell her I've gone to the village library."

Dermott, however, pretended not to notice him.

* * *

It was near dusk when Tonks finally made her way back to the _Honeybee_. Unable to cross the green for all the new fairground booths and stalls, she circled around it on the dusty path, weaving her way through a crowd of people who seemed rather intent on loitering about.

For some reason, she thought of troops marshalling together.

But, as always, the villagers were uncommonly cheerful. Friendly. And as Tonks sidled past, excusing herself for treading on toes and knocking knees, she received only pleasant smiles in return. It made her feel very much like a thief in the night, considering the all-important packet she had tucked just inside her jacket.

The _Honeybee_ was likewise crowded and Tonks only nodded in response to Dermott's greeting before heading up stairs to her room. She was surprised, on turning the doorknob, to find it unlocked. A lamp was on and the homey glow of it easily dispersed the oncoming shadows of twilight.

Tonk stepped into her room cautiously. "Hello?"

"Hallo." This from Brodie, sitting at the small table by the window. His hands were folded beneath his chin and for some reason, he didn't look up as she entered. There were a pile of books near his elbow.

_Oh God_, she thought, _he's mad at me. I shouldn't have left him alone all day. I should have taken him with me, even if it meant him…_

"I'm so sorry," Tonks said at once. She was standing awkwardly just inside the door and with a shaking hand, she reached back to shut it. Shut it and lock it. "You have every right to be angry. I didn't mean to run off like that, I just-"

"I went to the library today." Although Brodie did not stir, there was the suggestion of heightened tension about him. At length, he dropped one hand onto the cover of the topmost book on the pile. "Come and see what I found."

Tonks inched forward slowly, the slight weight of the packet inside her jacket burning through to her flesh. "I-" she began, but then stopped when she saw the title of the book.

_Spells for the Summoning of the Wyrd_

It was an old text, from the 14th century at the latest. Hardly useful to today's wizard, although she distinctly remembered Professor Binns using it during History of Magic to demonstrate the backwardness of some medieval transfiguration trends. That type of magic had gone out of fashion with superstition. No one used it anymore, almost no one…

…except those who set up useless wards against foxes and slaughtered livestock to appease abused magic.

A hard lump formed in her throat. "Alan, I think-"

Again, he cut her off.

"There was this as well," he said slowly, lifting up a second book and handing it to her.

Tonks glanced at the cover and recognized it at once.

_Potions for Housekeeping: Everyday Brews for the Modern Day Witch_

The book was standard for nearly a generation of housewives. As she recalled, her own mother had a copy sitting on a shelf in her kitchen.

And Brodie had found it here, in the public library.

She put the book down on the table again.

Tonks knew she should say something to distract him, to dismiss from his thoughts any ideas of magic or the supernatural. But she couldn't, not now, at least, when she needed his help the most.

"I found something too," she said, sinking onto the edge of the bed, a shadow of weariness dropping down onto her shoulders and leaving her weak. Since discovering the greenhouses, Tonks had speedily returned to the village and the inn. Shamefully, she had been almost relieved to hear that Brodie was out as well, which gave her some time to do a little more research of her own.

"This was in the hall of public records," she told him. "I didn't think the archivist would let me make a copy, so I nicked it. Sorry if that offends you, but…but it explains a lot."

At last, Brodie looked up at her and Tonks realized that he wasn't angry with her at all, just contemplative, thoughtful and concerned.

"I spoke to Kentigern Rook and Mary MacFarlene this morning," he replied. "They said they saw you on the road outside the village."

Tonks raised her eyebrows in shock. "I didn't see either of them."

"Oh, well, I thought they were lying."

Silence.

Carefully, Tonks took the packet of papers from inside her jacket and lay them out before her on the bed.

"It's so obvious," she told him, pointing to one sheet in particular. "Read that one."

Brodie stooped over the bed. "It's an annual account of Willoway's income," he said, seemingly nonplussed. "Notes on the island's industry."

"And the date?"

"1992, two years ago."

"And this one." She held up a separate paper. "This one is for 1993."

"My God." Brodie took the paper over into the lamplight. "The change is drastic! The island made almost no money last year, their industry…"

"Was destroyed," Tonks finished for him. "Blighted. The whole economy of this place depends on a single business-they sell lotions and salves, cosmetic creams. Aromatherapy products. But you can't make any money if you can't grow the organic herbs, flowers and fruits to make the stuff."

They were so close now, the elusive answer had flashed before their eyes, had teased their tongues. It was here. Right in front of them. _They had it._

The mystery had been solved.

"How do you know all this?" he asked her, still holding the paper up to the light with a look of awe on his face.

"Because I stumbled upon their company greenhouses this morning. There is no yearly crop, it failed. The ground is blighted. Everything was…sabotaged."

Sabotaged, yes, that was the key word. And that was why the islanders had set up wards against foxes and why they had become so secretive. Their industry had been sabotaged, whether from the outside or the inside, by someone…someone who could slip amongst them as a fox and work mischief at night. Of course the islanders couldn't advertise the crop failure, their investors would pull out of the company immediately. And being naturally superstitious people, the islanders had turned to the only help known to them…nontraditional magic, wandless magic, _old_ magic.

But Tonks couldn't tell all that to Brodie, or could she?

"This is a case of industrial sabotage," she said once he had handed the paper back to her. "Someone has tried to and still is trying to destroy Willoway's business."

"And the vandalism could be a warning," Brodie put in.

He was wrong, but Tonks knew she couldn't correct him. "Possibly. I think that this fox has something to do with it too. It could be a…calling card of some sort. Used by the bad guy. I think we can both agree the animal is trained."

She wasn't being honest with him. She was deluding him, after he had worked so hard to find the truth. And yet, how could she explain to him that the fox was a Animagus and the vandalism only the futile attempts of the islanders to ward off bad magic?

Tonks bit her lip and looked at Brodie steadily. Oh, how she hated lying to him. And yet, she wanted to be an Auror, didn't she? This was the only way….the _only_ way.

"We find the fox," she said, "we find the master."

"You make it sound almost simple," Brodie replied sourly.

Tonks felt her own determination shaken by his sudden lack of confidence. To hide her concern, she began to gather up the papers she had stolen from the hall of records and returned them to the inner pocket of her jacket. "Are you," she began, but then hesitated, "are you thinking of giving up, then?"

His response was immediate. "Of course not! We are, that is to say, I hope we are so close to the end of things. Don't you think so, Tonks?"

She flinched when he used her name, remembering at once how Moody had been the first to take her request seriously and call her only by her surname. And here stood Brodie, completely unaware of her true life, thinking only that she was a fellow police officer, _trusting her_.

Tonks found that she was not above the misery of guilt and even now, when she should have been elated by her find, she felt awful.

If Brodie only knew the truth, she was sure he would still help her…wouldn't he?

Temptation made her tongue rebellious and she was about to speak, about to start down a track from which there would be no going back, when they both heard the noise outside.

The music.

Brodie jumped and she jumped and they rushed to the window as one, jostling for position by the casement to get a better look at the village green.

There, on the lush, dewy lawn, was gathered an impressive crowd. Someone was playing a jaunty jig on a fiddle, accompanied by a flute. And there was dancing and laughing and noise and Tonks thought she saw flowers in the hair of the women. Something stirred in her gut, an unpleasant thing, yet not entirely unwelcome.

Almost at once, her head became muddled.

The feeling reminded her of the day Moody had put her under the Imperius Curse…and how she had failed to fight him off.

But then, the feeling was gone.

Brodie suddenly drew away from the window. "I'm going downstairs, I want…I want to see."

Tonks felt as though she should stop him, but in halting his progress, she found her own feet taking her out of her room. Taking her down the stairs. Taking her outside.

They were standing in the doorway of the _Honeybee_, now on level with the revelers on the green. Tonks realized that down there, in the thick of things, nothing seemed quite so lively or innocent as it had when viewed from the window. Down there, in the gutter, things had turned positively chaotic.

She looked away from the crowds, shielding her eyes too late. Brodie himself was still transfixed by the spectacle. By the voices and the singing and the ale spilled freely on the cobblestones. By the crowd that seemed to swell and then spread. By the faces transformed by the unwholesome festival.

Tonks knew she had to warn him. She had to tell him what she knew of Willoway. They could only do this together and, she yes, _she_, did not want to be alone anymore.

Grasping his arm, she pulled him around so that he had to face her and his eyes went wide as she drew near him to be heard over the din.

"Alan," she told him, "I'm a witch."

**

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Author's Note:

Well, that was an extremely stupid thing for Tonks to do, although I wouldn't rule out external influences on her decision making process right now. *hint hint*.

I'd like to thank everyone who read/reviewed/favorited this story so far. You guys, rock!

There should be roughly three chapters left in this story. I'm hoping to finish them up in the next month or so and get them posted soon. Keep your fingers crossed that my muse doesn't desert me. ^_^

Take care, everyone!


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